


Dark Angel: Dangerous Games (Part III of The Chronicles of House Vader)

by IvyLeigh



Series: The Chronicles of House Vader [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Seduction, Ballroom Dancing, Creepy Palpatine, Dark Romance, Deception, Domestic Disputes, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fabulous Entrances, Fluff and Smut, Gonna keep writing it, Intrigue, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Playa's gotta play, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Body Play, Sexual Content, Sith Sex, Sith Shenanigans, Suspense, Xizor's a Playa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-12-13 19:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11767086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyLeigh/pseuds/IvyLeigh
Summary: Darth Vader's mistress Lylla Sa'thraxxx makes an auspicious debut at the Coronation Day Ball. But the Emperor devises a plot to drive a wedge between the two.And a certain Prince of Falleen is more than happy to oblige his Emperor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have marked this installment as Mature, but there will be Explicit Sex in the last chapter. Just fair warning.
> 
> I like to think of this installment as Cinderella meets My Fair Lady, but with non-consensual dosing, seduction, and hot Sith sex.

Rumors are fascinating things. Little oddments of information, whether false or true, that come alive. Rumors can fly like whispered locusts through the aristocratic fields of cultured boredom and political intrigue, and can grow more heads than an Ibanjii mire snake with every passing murmur. And, if wielded correctly, a rumor can be a weapon more devastating than a Death Star.

This particular rumor could not have hit at a better—or worse—time, depending on one's own point of view. Just days before the Throneworld's Anniversary Ball, when hundreds of thousands of the Empire's sycophantic privileged were already descending upon the city-planet, the hushed gossip had begun to broaden. Where it began, no one was entirely certain, but after a few days of circulation, why should that matter anyway?

Which was exactly what Prince Xizor had hoped for.

"So, have you heard, Lord Xizor?"

The Falleen prince lazily lifted his attention from the mouthpiece of his harga pipe and turned it to the fatuous furry Bimm lady lounging at the other side of the pillowed pit. "Heard what, Lady Umba?"

The stumpy, velvet-swathed furred alien tittered, as did the rest of the group sprawled around the towering waterpipe. "Oh come now, Xizor, if there is anyone who has his finger on the pulse of The Throneworld's elite, it's you," she said as she brought her end to her lips.

"Why," piped the lanky human female with an impossible hairdo sitting next to her, "I heard it weeks ago already, on Corellia."

"Weeks ago, you say?" Xizor asked. _Considering Guri just leaked it four days ago._ "Well, don't I feel out of the loop?" He took a long, slow drag of harga smoke through his mouthpiece, blowing it out in intricate rings, watching them break against the sumptuous tapestries hovering above. He raised an eyebrow. "Well, do tell—or are you ladies just teasing me…again?"

The silly duo both chirped titters and turned over their shoulders to make sure no one—or EVERYONE—in the elite members-only drug den would hear before they whisper-yelped in unison, "Darth Vader has taken a MISTRESS!"

"No!" Xizor whispered with believable disbelief.

"Yes!" they both replied.

"No!"

"YES!"

"Well, pull my ears and call me a Twi'lek," Xizor chuckled. The inebriated pair howled with laughter. Bringing his drink of potent mandragori to his lips, he glanced about the drug den to make POSITIVELY sure they were being heard before he continued. "Are you quite sure?"

"Well," huffed the bony human, patting the tower that was her hair, "can you explain where he was for three months after the Battle of Yavin? Rumor has it he found solace the arms of a lower Hapian princess!"

"No!" Xizor whispered.

"Yes!"

"No!" exclaimed another female, a feline fawn-haired Jazbanin, whose head popped up from a neighboring pit, "She's a Dathomir witch!"

"What?" shrieked the females with uproarious laughter.

A broad smile spread across Xizor's face. "And where did you get THAT information, Contessa?"

"It only makes sense," the luxuriously furred Contessa mewled, her tail twitching behind her, her cat-like eyes dreamy in a harga glow. "Lord Vader would choose a woman as close to his kind as possible, wouldn't he?"

"There is a discrepancy in that theory, lovely Contessa," The Prince chuckled, swirling his mandragori in his chalice, "in that the Dathomir witches were massacred in the Clone Wars." 

"No, no, no!" corrected the fuzzy Bimm, "she's an Interrogator! With the ISB!"

Xizor grinned. "And you know this how, Lady Umba?"

"I saw it on the holonet, on the Society channel. Ingor Riann's show! He actually parked outside what he thought was her complex, and broadcasted live! So it must be true! He even reported that she would be at the Coronation ball tonight! He said that the Emperor himself sent her an invitation!"

"No!" shrieked the human.

"Yes!" Lady Umba shrieked back.

The drugged and drunken society matrons cackled and yelped at each other. Xizor's smile grew even wider. _Excellent work, my dearest Guri._ The information his android spy had discovered and leaked had actually made it to the holonet—and the Society channel no less. Oh, this was turning out better than he had planned.

His thoughts turned to the Dark Lord. Assassination attempts had proven useless—that blasted sorcerer somehow always managed to thwart his efforts, whether through his magic, his military, or sheer luck. Everything around him was armored—his transport, his castle, his troops, even himself. Vader had proven himself untouchable. Or had he?

Vader was a jealous man, he could feel it in his bones. And, judging by the dishevelment of his mistress as she left his fortress, Xizor surmised that he was a possessive one as well. The Dark Lord's unpredictability was that of legend, from the treaties with planetary governments habitually broken and the contracts with various galactic industries conveniently ignored. It was certainly impossible that he implicitly trusted this mistress. And the odds that she would remain faithful to him were remote at best.

Fidelity was disadvantageous to any ambitious whore.

Distrust, possessiveness, capriciousness—Xizor could smell blood in the water. Vader's weaknesses could be turned against him, and easily at that. The target of assassination this time would be the Dark Lord's reputation.

Vader's public humiliation would undoubtedly diminish his power within the Empire and his favor with the Emperor. If the Dark Lord could not control his woman, how could he possibly hold the galaxy within his grip? It was a beginning, the chink in the armor he had longed for. And through that chink his real assassins would slip, exacting the revenge Xizor had coveted for years. Revenge for the deaths of a quarter million of his fellow Falleens, including his own family, that Vader had ordered years before as his solution for stopping the spread of a plague.

Xizor could hear it now—Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, Scourge of the Galaxy—

Cuckold.

He turned his snakish eyes back to the drug pit's other occupants. The women still babbled, but the subject had morphed into speculation of the lovely beast's looks. On and on they chattered about possible hair color, race, height, eyes, origins, and so on. None of them were correct.

His thoughts drifted. She was exquisite, wasn't she? Her face was a bit too angular and her nose a bit too narrow for perfect beauty. But that wild scarlet hair that snaked about her sharp features, and those eyes, white as supernovae…and there was something else about her, something animalistic, almost reptilian. Yes, beast was a suitable description. Ah yes, he would enjoy this one. Perhaps even keep her for a while, further adding to Vader's humiliation—that is, if the Dark Lord didn't kill her in a fit of jealous rage. He imagined those long pale legs spread, her slick sex laid before him, and those eyes gleaming with lust. To have her on her knees, her wide mouth sucking him off, and then on all fours, screaming his name as he clawed her back and pounded her from behind...

His cock twitched. 

The ladies stopped their chatter and slowly turned to the Prince. With all of his musings and the arousal that came with it, his Falleen pheromones had kicked in hyperdrive, filling the air around him. The women's breathing became slow and deep, as carnal desire threatened to overtake them. Xizor had to decide quickly between them, and the decision was not a difficult one. He turned over his shoulder. "Contessa…" he crooned, "would you care to join me for a…" He raised his glass and an eyebrow, "private drink?"

The Jazbanin drew a shuddering breath as the other simpletons groaned in defeat. She spilled over the pillowed partition of her pit and set her chin in his lap. "I'd be honorrrrrrred," she purred.

Xizor’s smile instantly disintegrated as he looked upon the remaining two. "Good day, ladies, " he snarled.

As the ladies sulked away, he leaned back into the pillows, allowing the Contessa better access to the front slit of his silk trousers. As she lowered her lips onto his hard rock-hard shaft, Xizor murmured to no one in particular, "Let the games begin."

* * *

Despite the Emperor's decree that the city-planet's artificial chronometer be kept as night for the length of his Coronation celebrations, The Throneworld’s skies were as bleached as day over the Imperial Palace by Illumination drones some forty meters wide. Adding further to the haze was the glow generated by the repulsor engines of thousands of speeders glutting the airways to the Palace for miles, each waiting pull into the red-carpeted palace port so that its occupants, human and alien, bedazzled in outrageous finery, could emerge to the snaps and pops of hundreds of holocameras lining the stretch leading inside. Grand stanzas of choral opera blared from immense speakers, bouncing off the neighboring starscrapers, resounding in a harmonious cacophony.

Perhaps the only thing that could have drowned out the thunderous music was the earsplitting chatter and squeals of the Emperor's guests. The highest ranks of Imperial vassal royalty, nobility, aristocracy, and military swarmed over the red carpet, posing for the holocams, slapping backs and kissing cheeks as they slowly made their way through the Palace doors.

It was a night of pomp and music, of color and light, of splendor and frivolity.

Darth Vader hated every second of it.

He looked over the display from the balcony of his private chamber within the Palace. The only movement that betrayed his perfect stillness was the slow, deliberate tap of his finger on the balcony rail. He had been there for hours, watching the horde inch over the red carpet like maggots over rotted flesh. Sycophants and degenerates. All of them. 

The doors hissed open. He didn't turn around. "You have an irritating habit of entering unannounced, Jixton."

"Well," Wrenga Jixton began, leaning on the door and sliding a small vibro-blade from his belt, "I figured since you like to crawl around in people's heads, you'd already know I was coming, Uncle D." He began to pick under his nails with the tip of his blade. "You know, they invented these things called ‘lights’. Very handy for seeing things in the dark. You should look into that."

Vader surmised long ago that all Corellians, especially this Corellian, were as obnoxious as they were capable. If Wrenga Jixton weren't the best agent in his roster and didn’t amuse him at times (this not being one of those), he would have thrown this upstart out of an airlock years ago. "Is it done?" he asked a tad impatiently.

"Done, and done." Jixton said. "The reporter Ingor Riann has been arrested and executed. He won't be bothering you again."

"He was warned numerous times that any intrusion of my privacy was tantamount to high treason," Vader rumbled. "I'm sure his surviving colleagues on the holonet will not make the same error in judgment." He turned slightly over his shoulder. "Has the leak been located?"

"Unfortunately, no, not yet. But I have word from Intel that the officers are, I quote, 'working diligently' on the matter—"

"Abort the search.”

Jix's brows rose. "Abort?"

"They are better used elsewhere. Ingor Riann will serve as an example. The matter is closed." With that, he turned back to the crowd below.

Jix pursed his lips, observing Vader carefully, before deciding to break the silence. "Ballroom's filling up. Everyone's getting juiced. And you are the talk of the town. Everyone is wondering where you are."

"I'm sure they are," Vader replied dryly.

"And, of course, your lady. It's all anyone is talking about." His boots clicked as he sauntered toward the Dark Lord. "You have to admit, Uncle D, that this is definitely a scale-peeler. Admirals and nobles with mistresses are a credit a dozen, but you?" Slowly and a tad menacingly, the Dark Lord turned to face him. Jix nervously cleared his throat. "Uh…what I meant was—"

"Do you believe, as does the rest of the galaxy, that I am not entitled?" 

"Well…no…um…it's just that…well, you are a busy man. I just figured you didn't have the time. You never seemed all that interested in the opposite sex."

"You mean I am regarded as a machine and not as a man." The Dark Lord’s tone was icily blunt.

Jix's mouth opened and closed several times as his brain scrambled to shove words into it. "Now that's not true, Uncle D. You're…well, you're tall, rich, powerful and…utterly frightening. Girls dig that."

"If you are attempting to either humor or compliment me, you are failing miserably at both." At that moment, Vader's attention riveted to the glossy black speeder escorted by eight stormtroopers on speeder bikes that pulled up to the red carpet platform. He watched the hordes of guests turn their heads to the newest arrival, and part to the edges of the carpet. A footman extended his hand, grasping that of a tall, willowy figure that stepped from the speeder. 

Wrapped from head to foot in a shimmering deep scarlet cloak that trailed several meters behind, the figure's face was hidden under a long hood. Four troopers fell into their positions at all four corners of the tall stranger. The figure held herself proud and tall, facing forward, her pace slow and deliberate, as if she were fully aware of the thousands of eyes staring. The holorazzi went berserk, rushing the carpet just to get a glimpse of the guest. Vader watched the crowd of elite gawk and gasp as the troopers pushed the reporters back with the butts of their blasters. But the statuesque scarlet-draped woman showed no concern in her posture or gait, continuing unhurriedly down the carpet.

Jixton actually dared to join the Dark Lord on the balcony, and leaned down. "That's her?" He blew a soft whistle. "A tall cool drink of aquabliss, isn't she? And shrouded in mystery. Literally." He stood up, adjusted his jacket and straightened his collar. "So, when do I get to meet her?"

Vader drew himself up, and hooked his thumbs into his belt. "You don't." He strode from the balcony through his expansive private office and out the door.

Jixton heaved a defeated sigh. He quickened his pace to catch up to the Dark Lord walking fiercely down the hall. "She must be something, Uncle D. She's even been to your fortress. Why haven't you ever invited me?"

"Because you irritate me."

"Well, yes, I have that effect on people, I guess." He let out a light amused snort. "But then again, although I have many talents, there's one or two that I definitely can't provide for you, huh, Uncle—"

Wrenga Jixton never saw Vader's huge black hand bolt out of his robes and clutch him by the throat. Before he realized it, he was slammed into the wall, his feet dangling a meter off the floor. Oh yes, it was official: He had crossed the line this time.

"Let me make this perfectly clear," Vader said, never raising his voice. "I advise that you keep your opinions to yourself regarding situations you could not possibly understand." He tightened his grip to drive his point. "Am I understood?"

Jix attempted a hard swallow. "Absolutely, Uncle—er, Lord Vader." Vader opened his hand. Jix slid down the wall hard onto his feet and gulped deep long breaths.

"Keep yourself sober tonight, Jixton. I am going to need your 'special talents' before the evening is over." He turned away and resumed his pounding stride to the ballroom.

Jix straightened up as he watched the Dark Lord. "Note to self," he muttered, rubbing his throat, "Vader's lady is strictly off limits." He cocked an eyebrow at the thought that this could be more than just a carnal arrangement. "Lady Vader…?"

* * *

"Lord Vader," Palpatine crooned. "Come, my friend, you have been missed."

"Forgive my absence, Your Majesty," Vader said as he came from the shadows behind the Emperor's onyx throne. He took his place at the Emperor's right and bowed slightly before continuing. "There were reports of Rebel activity in the ruins of the Acherin system. I authorized the Imprimatur to investigate."

"Excellent, Lord Vader. I wonder, however, how long it actually takes to authorize a reconnaissance mission? You were gone so long, I was beginning to think you were avoiding us." He chuckled thickly, then gestured before him. "I hardly need to introduce you, do I, gentlemen? You remember our good friend Prince Xizor?"

Vader turned his mask toward the opulently dressed Falleen prince. Gathered on the stairs behind him was a flock of young, attractive concubines varying in humanoid race. Some were courtesans, the others daughters or sisters rebelling against their titled patriarchs, all of whom had shared Xizor's bed for an invitation.

Force, he despised this man. "Your Highness."

"Lord Vader," Xizor replied from deep in his chest, bowing from his waist. "It has been too long since last we met." He rose, and when his gaze penetrated Vader's opaque lenses, a slick smile appeared. "I cannot tell you how much I've been looking forward to this evening. His Majesty's festivities are never short of amusement and delight." He lifted his glass of frothing wine. "And one can always expect a…surprise to be part of the night's enchantment." He brought it to his lips.

Vader could not read Xizor's thoughts or emotions: Like the Hutts, the Falleen were one of few races in the galaxy whose biochemical makeup could block the Force from their minds. But he did catch the shrewd smile, and the quick glance he gave the Emperor from over the rim of his glass. Suspicion glimmered in the back of the Dark Lord's mind. "I am sure you will enjoy all this evening has to offer, Prince Xizor," he answered, blending a lilt of threat into the courtesy. "And more."

Palpatine's croaking voice cut the moment. "Prince Xizor, you and your lovely companions, as always, bring beauty and grace to our presence. Please," he offered with a sweeping gesture, even as his face cracked with its wicked grin, "Partake."

Xizor bowed again. He turned to his bevy of beauties and led them down the stairs to meld into the crowd. Vader scanned the floor for the face of Wrenga Jixton. Jixton caught the Dark Lord's brusque nod toward the Falleen prince, and immediately set upon following him through the throng.

Vader's attention was once more drawn by the Emperor's coagulated chortle. "Although this is a celebration of MY reign, it seems our distinguished guests are far more interested in YOU, my friend."

Vader viewed the ballroom. Below from the ballroom floor and above from the repulsor balconies, they gawked. They ignored the introduction of the guests as they entered the grand ballroom and strode the long carpet to greet the Emperor. Ten thousand eyes, reptilian, mammalian and avian, all fixed on him, all leaning into each other and whispering. He pulled his expressionless glare slowly across the assembly before he spoke again. "Certain information was leaked to the media."

"Obviously."

"The reporter who broadcast it has been dealt with."

"Now was that entirely necessary?"

"My private affairs are to remain as such, my Emperor," Vader answered tersely. "What I do in my solitude is of no concern to these people."

Palpatine chuckled again "Powerful men have mistresses, my friend, it is no secret or shame. Most men in your position would have alerted the media of their trysts even before the bed sheets had turned cold." The Emperor raised himself slightly in his seat, looking off toward the entrance, a gleaming onyx staircase that descended to the ballroom floor. "Still she has not arrived? It seems your little slave girl has already learned the aggravating feminine practice of being 'fashionably late'."

"I granted Madame Sa'thraxxx full galactic citizenship when I dissolved her indenture to the Empire, therefore she is no longer a slave." Vader stated evenly. He turned slightly toward the Emperor. "Nor is she a girl. She is thirty-one." _I am the only one allowed to call her ‘girl’,_ he thought in a silent growl. 

"So, trying a younger woman nowadays? It wasn't always so." Sidious cackled softly, but stopped when he felt his apprentice’s anger simmer. He waved a wrinkled hand. "I jest with you, Lord Vader. Come, this is a night of celebration and mirth. You are being far too serious, even for you."

"Your Majesty is in high spirits tonight," Vader noted.

"And why shouldn't I be, as I am about to meet your lovely companion in the flesh." He paused before deliberately adding, "The actual flesh?" Again, that sour laugh.

The suspicion from earlier returned. "I was under the impression that you were not pleased with my… arrangement."

"I was not pleased that you hid her from me, Lord Vader," Palpatine corrected. "However, after experiencing her…" His voice trailed off, as if in deep thought.

"She is a passionate woman—"

"She is a savage," Palpatine spit through rotting teeth. But his snarl morphed into a smile when he turned to Vader. "I mean that as no insult, my friend. Her mind is sharp and ruthless, and her soul as dark as your own. I would say that, so far, you have chosen wisely." His tone darkened. "But I will reserve my full approval upon meeting her."

Vader tensed in his armor. Quietly, he replied, "As you wish, my Master."

That insipid prince from the Hapes Cluster, Isolder, had just been introduced and was now making his way down the carpet. Simpering to the crowd, he was halfway down when Vader felt a smooth, deep undercurrent in the Force. He turned his mask to the gleaming black staircase far across the ballroom. _**Lylla**_ , he sent. He was not answered with words, but with a sultry ripple of consciousness that emulated throaty laughter.

He turned back to the Emperor, noticing the Emperor's glare focused on the majordomo announcing the guests. He saw the majordomo nod quickly to him, and the Emperor gesture lightly. The domo then gestured to the orchestra and choir high aloft the ballroom. The orchestra abruptly halted. The chorus started again, a cappella this time, raising their voices to the vaulted ceilings in announcement.

Vader curled his fist and rolled his eyes. He looked down at his Master, who merely sat relaxed and smirking. He closed his eyes and set upon a meditation puzzle to keep himself from snapping the Emperor's neck right there.

The people noticed the change in music as well, and turned in unison toward the arch of the entrance dais. They watched the majordomo step forward and heard him clear his throat before bellowing, "From His Majesty's Imperial Security Bureau, Madame Lylla Sa'thraxxx."

The horde of guests communally yelped as they pressed toward the staircase. The hours of patience and excitement were about to pay off, the moment finally come when they would be the very first in the galaxy to be introduced to the Lord Darth Vader's rumored mistress. They shushed their heated whispers, locked their eyes to the entrance, and waited.

And waited.

Palpatine stiffened in his seat, rising up a bit, scowling at the majordomo. The domo nervously stole a quick glance behind him before repeating, "Madame Lylla Sa'thraxxx!"

The calm Vader had sought came, but not from his meditation. _**The galaxy awaits you**_ , he pathed to her.

 _**Let them wait**_ , came her silent response.

No one could see the grin that spread Vader's lips. She was purposely playing on their rapacious curiosity and pompous impatience, even the Emperor’s. Truly fearless. 

The majordomo was visibly embarrassed at this point. The music had begun to swell dramatically, and just as the domo began for the third time, "Madame Lylla—", it climaxed into a brilliant crescendo.

And Lylla finally showed herself.

She stepped into the wide expanse of the arch with the deliberate elegance of a serpent stalking a kill. When she reached the center of the dais she stopped, and collected herself into a tall regal pose, chin high, shoulders squared, allowing every single elitist eye to drink her in. Her white eyes, slicked with black kohl, passed over the dumbstruck horde. 

Palpatine’s attempt at humiliation evaporated as Vader looked at her. Lylla had promised him she would make him proud, and she did not disappoint. She truly looked like a queen.

Her gown inarguably surpassed any other in the room in the realm of taste and expense. The fabric was a dense gleaming satin, and the color a red so dark it appeared black in the folds of the heavy voluminous skirt. A corseted bodice, formed low on the hip, sleekly cinched her already svelte waistline while gently lifting her breasts into a tempting décolletage. Stiff fingerless gloves of the same fabric traveled the length of her arms to her bare shoulders, and her wrists were adorned with a wealth of jeweled bracelets. She had let her scarlet hair grow for the last day, for it was plaited and twirled around a black diamond-studded crescent-moon hairpin. Loose curls spilled down to her waist. But the crowning touch was a massive jeweled collar encrusted with rubies and black opals that started high at her chin to slope over her shoulders. 

She passed her eyes over to the Dark Lord. When she met his gaze, her expression softened, and a half smile curled her ruby-painted lips. Despite the distance, he could feel her hopeful desire that she had pleased him. For the briefest moment, the thousands of guests vanished as they stood there, motionless. Then she slowly descended.

Vader stepped off the throne dais and down the stairs, unapologetically brushing past the dull Hapian prince, who sputtered and pouted that his introduction had been so rudely interrupted, and strode toward her. Lylla matched his smooth yet brisk pace, and her skirt caught the breeze of her stride to subtly billow its two-meter train behind her. She did not waiver, she did not stumble, she never averted her eyes, but held them steady upon her lover and lord. Vader caught some of the excited whispers of the crowd:

"Why, she's beautiful! She looks nothing like I thought she would—"

"To think Lord Vader could capture a creature like her…"

"But look at her! Those EYES!"

"She looks like a witch!"

"Is she even human?"

"Sorceress."

"Dragon!”

Under his mask, Vader cracked a smirk. 

They finally came upon each other at the carpet's center, and held their gaze for a moment. Then Lylla slowly dipped to the floor in a deep curtsy before him. A collective gasp swept the horde: Such a display of deference was reserved for the Emperor alone.

The Emperor took note of it as well, his lids sinking into a seething scowl. The display did not escape Prince Xizor's notice either. Tucked within the circle of his lovely entourage, he traced a slender jeweled finger over the rim of his glass as he drank the sight of Lylla in. The thought of snaring this serpent heated his cold blood a few degrees. He smiled.

Lylla lifted her eyes back to Vader. She took Vader's outstretched hand, and he lifted her to her feet. Pivoting to her side, he placed her hand atop his and escorted her to the awaiting Emperor. The image they struck as they walked would be forever etched into the minds of the guests: The Dark Lord, impervious and ominous in his black robes; and she, almost as tall, so alluring and yet just as unsettling and, yes, intimidating as he. Although his helm gleamed and her gems glittered, there was a sinister influence about the two of them, as though they enticed all the light around them into their presence and held it mercilessly captive.

They walked silently for a moment until Vader said, "I am satisfied to see my credits were well spent. Your appearance pleases me."

She glanced at him, a subtle smirk played across her lip. She had hoped for "dazzling" or "gorgeous" or "beautiful", but she knew that Vader wasn't exactly liberal with his compliments. She would take what she could get. "Thank you, my Lord." She turned back, keeping her eyes forward. "I did not expect you to do that."

"You did not expect me to acknowledge you in front of the galaxy elite."

"Precisely."

"Our arrangement has become public knowledge. It was only fitting that I acknowledge you."

He felt her tense. "It wasn't me. You know that, don't you?"

"Despite your indiscretion within the Inquest corps, I believe you." He paused. "Are you prepared for this?"

"Fourteen hours a day with that damned protocol droid,” Lylla murmured through her serenely false smile, “learning every manner, every name of every diplomat for the last two weeks? Stumbling over my feet learning these impossible dances? Yes, I think I'm more than prepared."

"That's not what I meant," Vader clarified. "Are you prepared for him?"

She took a long breath as she tried to seem indifferent. "What should I expect?"

"He will test you. He will look into your mind, feed on your fears, your pain, your darkest secrets. Because you are Force-blind, there is nothing you can do to stop him. I cannot interfere. You must do this alone." He reached out through the Force to gauge her reaction. "You are afraid?"

She let out a small, unconvincing laugh. "Should I be?"

"Yes."

Lylla shot an edgy glance at the Dark Lord before averting her eyes back to the throne’s staircase. As they ascended, the air around her chilled her. The music stopped, and she could almost feel the weight of ten thousand eyes upon her shoulders. It was then she noticed the deafening silence that had fallen upon the crowd, save for Vader’s respirator. A streak of unspeakable dread shot up her spine, which grew more intense with every step. She was completely cut off from Vader's mind, and seeking any answers from his expressionless mask brought, of course, nothing. She kept her chin high and her focus rigid as they reached the top.

"Your Majesty," Vader said, bowing his helm slightly, "I present to you Madame Inquisitor Lylla Sa'thraxxx."

Lylla looked long and hard at the man seated before her. So this was he: The almighty Emperor, supreme ruler of the galaxy, conqueror of a thousand worlds. He seemed nothing more than the rotted husk of an old man drowning in his black robes. Her eyes shifted briefly to the walking stick to his side, an unremarkable piece of knotted wood. This was the maker of nightmares, the master of terror, the one who had her—and her beloved Dark Lord—under his thumb for the rest of their lives? She suppressed the sneer that threatened to spread across her face.

She dipped once again into the low curtsy until she was practically on the floor. She winced slightly at the weight of her collar on her neck. "Your Majesty," she said softly.

"Ah, at last," Palpatine sang thickly, "the little slave girl who caught the eye of the indomitable Darth Vader." He chuckled as Lylla gave him a blistering look from under her brows before forcing them back to the floor. "Come closer, my dear, kneel before me." He imitated a fatherly tone. "My eyes are not what they used to be."

She rose, came forward, and knelt in front of him, keeping her eyes down and her arms stiff at her side. The Emperor impatiently clucked his tongue. "Look up, girl. There is no reason to hide that beautiful face, especially from me." Lylla raised her chin, and looked directly into the Emperor's diseased eyes.

Palpatine's hood cocked to one side ever so slightly as he took her in. Leaning over, he lifted a bony hand from his robes and touched high arch of her cheek, slowly sliding a fingernail down the curve of her jaw to rest under her chin. "Splendid," he rasped through his teeth, savoring every syllable as he lifted finger to trace her perfectly arched eyebrow. Lylla swallowed hard to keep from gagging from the stench that crept from his mouth. "A woman is never more beautiful than when she has been kissed by the Dark Side of the Force." He slid a finger into her hair, careful not to disturb it. "You are unusual indeed, my dear. Most Force-blind women cannot endure such intense exposure to the power of the Dark Side." He smiled again. "They usually die."

Lylla's lip curled subtly. "Is that why you have no wife, Majesty?"

Palpatine's grin fell briefly before he recovered it. "Clever girl, aren't you? You have a tongue as sharp as your mind." He leaned even closer. "Is that why you were Baron Malifino's favorite?"

Frost rushed through Lylla's veins, her breathing stopping in her chest. Her hardened stare collapsed into a gape of shock.

_He will feed on your fears, your pain, your darkest secrets._

The Emperor chuckled, and fiercely pinched her chin. "The pain, Lylla, it was unbearable, yes?” he hissed. “Your bones broken, your face swollen and bruised, your perfect flesh bleeding as he raped you, again and again? All those hours in the bacta tank, all those nights in the infirmary you lay there, sleepless and terrified… and all the opiates in the galaxy couldn't wash away the knowledge that it would happen again…and again…and again." He tightened his grip as he sensed her pulling away. "You can still feel his blows in your nightmares, can't you? Still hear him grunting in your ear, still smell his sweat mixed with your blood." She fought a flinch as he brought his other hand forward to cup her face. "But you never begged for death, for the relief it would bring. Why? What meaning did your life have, what purpose did you serve other than being a worthless plaything? What drove you," he sighed, tenderly caressing her cheek, "to become a _killer_?"

A slow intense anger crept over Lylla's fear, an anger the Emperor and Vader immediately sensed. She forcibly calmed her ragged breathing and her racing heart, and slit her eyes. "He deserved to die."

"And who are you to make such a judgment?"

She defiantly lifted her chin, even in his grip. "Is a being of flesh and bone better than another made of the same stuff? His hands caused me suffering—why should I not have the same privilege? Who am I to make that judgment?" She leaned forward, her white eyes flashing. "Who _better_ than I?"

The Emperor paused, and cocked an eyebrow. "And did you enjoy killing him?"

Despites the Emperor's rank breath, she leaned up and brought her face to his until her lips were only a breath from his. She chuckled. "I watched his life bleed away before my eyes. With his last rattling breath, he begged me for mercy. And the last thing he heard was my laughter." She pressed her cheek into the Emperor's palm, gazed, almost tenderly, into his eyes and whispered, "Oh, yes. I enjoyed it."

Palpatine said nothing for a time. Eventually, he let his hands slip from Lylla's face. He leaned back into his throne to acknowledge Vader, who had not moved nor belied any of his thoughts throughout the entire encounter. Another chuckle. "It seems you have been rewarded for your years of patience, Lord Vader. A true mortal acolyte to the Dark Side is a rare treasure." He touched her face again. "A rough gem, cut by a life of hatred and misery and polished into a dark fire." His smile grew faintly. "Who can guess what other… _passions_ lie within her black heart?"

Lylla frowned slightly at the comment, unsure of what he meant. Vader stepped forward. "I am honored that your Eminence finds my choice acceptable." Lylla bristled at the mundane word "acceptable". Vader continued. "She has served the Empire well these last months."

"And I am sure she will continue to do so, " the Emperor said. "Particularly when she has produced a Force-strong child, no?" Lylla flinched as though she'd been struck, then quickly averted her eyes down. The Emperor, masking his delight at her reaction, again feigned a parental tone. "Well, that is a subject to discuss another day, is it not?" He leaned back, and outstretched his hand. "Partake, Madame Sa'thraxxx, in all that is offered to you this evening." He gestured to the majordomo, who in turn gestured again to the orchestra above. Music once again swelled through the ballroom.

Vader came forward, and offered his hand to Lylla. Despite the adrenaline flooding through her, she rose with grace, and bowed her head. "I humbly thank you. You do me great honor, your Majesty." However, she shot him one more heated glance before turning with Vader and descending the staircase.

Despite her outward poise, Vader felt her hand shaking in his. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"Fine." She donned a false smirk. "So, is that all he's got?"

"No." He felt her forced self-assurance disintegrate. "You did well, Lylla. You controlled your fear, and used your hatred rather than succumb to it. I believe he is impressed."

"And that means what to me?" she whispered tightly.

"It means that you may still enjoy all that has been granted you. Including your life."

Lylla ground her teeth and kept her tongue as they reached the carpet below. Collecting herself, she asked, "Now what?"

"Now," Vader muttered, "we endure hours of wretchedness."

Lylla looked out upon the mass of nobles, officers, and aristocracy as they crept toward them. They were all wary and even frightened, but their intimidation was readily overcome by their sheer curiosity and ravenous ambition. All of Lylla's unease dissolved as she truly began to realize the power she held. They would undoubtedly pander to her in order to gain the Dark Lord's favor. She smiled as she turned to her Lord. "Then let the games begin," she purred.

* * *

Hours of countless greetings, of inane conversation, of thinly veiled appeals for favors and offers of fealty, servitude, and downright bribery, and Lylla rose to all of it. The last two weeks of relentless preparation had paid off; Lylla's rough edges were smoothed into a confident sophistication. She kept her precariousness (and her propensity for profanity) in check, and she had even honed her Outer Rim dialect into that of the Core worlds. In fact, she far surpassed Vader's expectations; she knew every dignitary by name, title, and rank, and she knew their spouses by name. She even spoke to many in their native tongues. She kept her conversation clipped and aloof, deftly skirting any questions about her past and origin, and dispensed courteous repartee as expertly as any seasoned courtier.

But there was something else that Vader hadn’t expected. For two decades, he had been regarded with abject terror. Now he caught what he believed were fleeting glances of envy. He remembered back to a time of secrets and hiding, of never being able to be seen with Padme in public. But now, the entire galaxy elite saw a woman of unusual beauty at his side, darkly elegant and cooly charming, one who was completely unafraid of him and even affectionate, with soft touches on his arm and fond looks. He had been furious about their affair becoming public. Now he found he enjoyed their envy, and recognized that their arrangement could prove a significant advantage if wielded correctly.

Lylla never left his side, and the guests took considerable note when she waved away all food and drink offered by the roving bands of servants; since her lord did not imbibe, she wouldn't either. Vader actually found himself having to say little to nothing at all, which suited him immensely. He was relieved that Lylla took the burden off him, for then he could keep his eye on his agent Jixton, the Emperor, and Prince Xizor. Especially Prince Xizor.

Vader had watched Xizor circle them for hours, attempting to hide himself within his band of females. The only time he took his eyes off Lylla was to throw glances up to the Emperor, who in turn would return signals back to the Falleen in the form of light gestures and nods. It was a form of communication he knew well, for that was what he had been using with Jixton.

Lylla’s quiet laughter distracted him momentarily. She was conversing with the Queen of Garscon in fluent Garsconese, a language rarely spoken outside that system. Lylla gestured to her dress and murmured, “Ypran,” obviously answering the Queen’s question regarding who designed her gown. After a few more words, Lylla bowed to the Queen, who joined the King of Garscon into the crowd.

Vader leaned down to her. “How many languages have you learned in the last two weeks?”

“Twenty-four,” Lylla answered simply. 

“Fluently?”

“Not all, just nineteen of them. The other five I can fake well enough.” Vader’s silence caused her to look at him quizzically. “What?”

“You learned twenty-four languages in two weeks,” he reiterated.

Lylla knit her brow even as she smirked. “Why? Can’t everyone do that?” She couldn’t be entirely sure, but she thought she heard a “Hmm,” come from Vader’s vocoder. She leaned into him and whispered, “By the way, keep your eye on the royal couple of Garscon.”

“Why?” Vader asked.

“Let’s just say it’s amazing what one can glean from girl-talk. I get a feeling they’re Rebel sympathizers.”

A feminine perspective, something Vader had not had up until now. Yes. Very useful. “I’ll have an agent in their household by morning.” 

He continued to look at her as his thoughts turned. The Emperor had a plan and Xizor was part of it, he knew that much. Rather uninspired, if one asked him. The Emperor should have found someone less obvious to try to seduce Lylla, if only to make the game interesting. Then again, Vader rarely passed an opportunity to turn a situation to his advantage. 

The variable in this equation was Lylla herself. She had proven herself vastly intelligent, and she had proven herself valuable. But she had yet to prove herself truly capable of handling this entirely new world she was in. 

She had yet to prove herself faithful.

As Admiral Ozzel made his way to them and Lylla graciously tolerated his oozing flattery, Vader turned his attention back to Xizor. He noted that Xizor turned away and lowered his head. A curt nod told Jix to investigate.

Jix casually sauntered to stand a meter shy of the Falleen prince, pretending to evaluate the wine in his glass. He watched the Falleen lift his hand to his nose, snap a jewel open on one of his rings, and deeply inhale the contents inside. Flipping the ring closed, Xizor pulled a silk handkerchief from his sleeve, dabbed his nose. He dismissed his concubines with a sharp wave, turned and headed straight toward the Dark Lord and his captivating mistress. Jix kept close behind.

As Ozzel finally made his exit, Lylla turned back to the crowd. Her eyes caught a tall green-skinned man as he cut through the crowd toward them. Although the only hair he had was a long black topknot that grew from the top of his bald head, the man was extraordinarily handsome. High arched eyebrows framed his face, and shadows carved the jut of his sharp cheekbones and chin. The rich purple of his impeccably tailored brocade coat contrasted sharply with the deep green of his skin in the glow of the ballroom's chandeliers. Each of his sleek clawed fingers was adorned with a fortune of jeweled rings, and a massive diamond was pinned to the cravat at his throat. But what struck her most were his eyes—almond-shaped and reptilian, and a yellow so intense they almost glowed. And they were locked on her, as was his devilish smile.

She leaned back into Vader and whispered, "Who is that man?"

"That is Xizor," he answered.

She noted the contempt in his voice. "You're not friends, I'm guessing?"

"That is a story for another day. I take it he wasn't mentioned in your protocol lessons.”

"Apparently not," she answered, her eyes still glued to him.

"That doesn't surprise me, as he is the Supreme Vigo of Black Sun."

"Black Sun? The crime syndicate?" Lylla gasped.

"You know of them?"

"Oh, I know about Black Sun. I was a pleasure slave, their most profitable cargo." She sneered. "He's looking at me like he'd order me off a menu."

"Unsurprising," said the Dark Lord. "His appetites are notorious. He thinks himself the master of seduction."

Lylla scoffed. “I’d like to see him try.” Her sneer faded, however, when the he did not respond.

"Lord Vader," Xizor announced, his arms open wide, before stopping and bowing low. The whispers of shock and anticipation had already begun by the time he rose. "May I have permission to formally meet your…" He slid his gaze to Lylla. "Consort?"

Vader rested his hands on his belt in his usual manner. "Madame Sa'thraxxx, Prince Xizor of Falleen. Your Highness, Madame Lylla Sa'thraxxx."

Xizor's grin grew. "Madame Sa'thraxxx, it is an immeasurable joy to meet you." He held his hand forward.

Lylla eyed it hesitantly. No one else had dared take her hand yet in the presence of the Dark Lord. She glanced at Vader for some counsel. He gave her nothing, standing silently with his hands at his belt. She relied on her protocol training, and lifted her hand to his. Xizor cradled it delicately before bringing a soft kiss to her bare fingers. He looked at her from under his brow, and smiled.

Despite her immediate contempt for the Prince, Lylla felt her flesh warm at the touch of his lips. She fluttered her lashes. "Your Highness, the pleasure is all mine," she replied absently.

Xizor stood up straight, and held her hand a moment too long before releasing it. He looked to Vader. "My Lord, I am not a jealous man—a trait for which I take substantial pride. But as I bask in the presence of such…loveliness, I must admit that I am a tad envious."

The crowd tittered around them. Vader tilted his helm forward. "You flatter me, your Highness. Judging by the number in your entourage, your appreciation for beauty is unparalleled." A pause. "One might even say, 'excessive'."

Venom sparked in Xizor's eyes before he quickly donned his charming grin. "Lord Vader jests with me. A sense of humor—who would have thought?" The crowd chuckled anxiously around them, nervous of insulting either one of these men who could easily have them killed for laughing…or not.

The first chords of a new orchestral piece broke the moment's tension. Xizor glanced up at the orchestra. "Ah, they are playing my request. I asked for a sprinital, and they delivered quickly. Lord Vader," he said, stepping toward Lylla, "I certainly hope I am not overstepping my bounds by asking for a dance with Madame Sa'thraxxx?"

Lylla's eyes slit thin as blades at the audacity of this man. "Forgive me, but I couldn't—"

"By all means, your Highness," Vader said. Lylla's head snapped to the Dark Lord, her face stiff with shock. He ignored her. "There is no reason why Madame Sa'thraxxx should not dance tonight, even if I do not."

"Then it is settled. Madame Sa'thraxxx, would do me the honor?" Xizor offered his arm. Lylla still scowled at Vader but received no response. Cautiously, she drew her hand from Vader's wrist and placed it upon Xizor's. But once she came into the Falleen’s space and their hands touched, Lylla's scowl strangely lessened. Still smiling, Xizor led her away. Several members of the crowd followed them, whispering fervently in each other's ears.

Vader drew his hand back and ran a finger over the top left button on his breastplate. On the signal, Jixton dribbled some wine over his lips and began to stumble through the guests. Just as he reached Vader, he tripped over his own feet and fell into him, spilling his wine all over Vader's cape. "Oh, Force and Heaven!" he shrieked. He frantically wiped at the cape with his sleeve. "My Lord Vader, please forgive me! I—aagh!"

The courtiers surrounding Lylla and Xizor shot their attention to the screaming man, and all the wagging tongues silenced. They watched and gasped as Vader, composed and silent, grabbed the front of the man's jacket with one hand and wrenched him off the floor. The poor man bawled in terror as Vader carried him several paces to throw him up against a pillar and pin him there.

Vader shoved his mask into the Jix's face. "Report.”

"He snorted something out of his ring," Jix whispered, "a powder of some kind. I assume it's a drug."

"Tarigash," he snarled. He noted Jix's questioning look. "A narcotic native to Falleen. It has no effect on the host, only those around him. It’s released through his pheromones, causing an intense state of sensory arousal and vulnerability to suggestion.” He gave Jix a good rough shake for appearances, and Jix sniveled accordingly. Glancing at the Emperor seated high on his throne, Vader murmured, "I need a distraction."

"How big?" Jix asked enthusiastically.

"Enough to distract the entire place."

An impish grin lit up Jix's face. "I live to serve, Uncle D."

Vader hurled Jix through the air, alarming the guests around them to scurry away. Jix shrieked again as he fell sprawling on the cold marble floor. Vader took a menacing step toward him. "That is a warning, imbecile. Now get out of my sight."

"Yes, yes, oh yes, my Lord!" Jix sniveled as he scrambled to his feet. He backed away, bowing over and over. "A thousand thanks for your mercy, Lord Vader! Oh, thank you! Thank you…" And with one or two more grovels, Jixton disappeared into the thick of the crowd.

Vader lifted his cape to inspect the stain, then acknowledged the guests. "I must attend to this." With no further courtesy, he strode away toward one of the arched exits. The guests gasped and the whispers increased tenfold as the Dark Lord strode away. How could Lord Vader leave his consort? Isn't he aware of the Prince Xizor's disreputable reputation? Doesn't he realize everyone was watching them on the dance floor?

Out of the corner of his eye Xizor caught the Dark Lord making his exit. In mid-turn, he glanced at the Emperor again, who answered him with a self-satisfied smirk and a nod that told Xizor to proceed to the next step.

Once out of sight, Vader softened his harsh boot steps as he made his way down the dark corridor until he came upon one of the huge mirrors that lined the corridor. Passing his hand over it, the two-way mirror slid open. He ascended the staircase inside to a tiny antechamber. Installed there was another two-way mirror that overlooked the dance floor, and Vader looked down on Lylla and Xizor.

They were in the thick of the sprinital, an intricate dance of precision and pattern. Although Lylla kept herself straight and serene, she missed a turn here or stumbled over her foot there. He could see she was struggling to stay collected.

 _Circle four steps, dip, turn, circle back four steps. Step in, curtsy, step out. Gods and hells, I hate this,_ Lylla cursed silently as she managed to keep up. It didn't help matters that she felt dizzy and befuddled. Colors and intensity, the smells of perfumes and foods, the onslaught of laughter and conversation and music all battled for supremacy in her head. She didn't feel sick, more like intoxicated…

"You're counting."

Lylla looked up, her thoughts dissipating. "What?"

"You're counting the beats," Xizor clarified, smiling. They had come to face each other. He held her hand aloft, their elbows touching, as they circled each other. "You just learned this dance, didn't you?"

Her eyelids fluttered as she fought for an answer. "I'm not much of a dancer. Never was." Beat. "Much to my father's disappointment." She held back a snort.

"Don't worry, I'll keep your secret," he whispered. He twirled her under his arm, then pulled her to his side and encircled her back, resting his hand on her hip. As he led her in a slow promenade, she could feel the air just squeeze between them. She pinned her eyes straight ahead and forced herself to focus. Xizor spoke again. "You mentioned your father? And he is…?"

"No longer with us," said Lylla, hoping it was true.

"My condolences."

"None needed."

Now they faced each other. A step to one side, step to the other, touch arms, circle again. "Forgive my curiosity, my lady," Xizor said, "but I detect the slightest hint of an Outer Rim dialect. I thought perhaps your family was within the echelon of the Corporate Sector. A mining magnate, or perhaps—"

"I don't feel well," she blurted softly. She wasn't lying.

His moment had arrived. "Madame, do you need some air?"

Her eyes darted, scanning a sea of heads and headdresses. "Where…where is he…?" Her mask of composure was starting to slip.

Xizor stopped the dance, and held her shoulders. "You're overheated, Madame Sa'thraxxx. And you're nervous from all the attention, yes?"

His voice wrapped itself around her shoulders. "Yes."

"Perhaps you would like to continue this dance elsewhere, where it is cool and fragrant, away from all these prying eyes?" With a comforting hand on her back, he began to lead her off the floor toward an arched exit.

"No," Lylla protested softly. He gripped her wrist. She tried to pull away. Her eyes rolled. "I can't leave."

"It will only be for a few moments, Madame."

The smell of him, of cologne and maleness, flooded her head. Her gaze lifted to the hundreds of thousands of lights that dazzled her eyes. She cried out in her head, _**Vader…**_

A scream seized Xizor's attention. He turned to the repulsor balcony across the ballroom, where a woman was screaming and two men were arguing loudly while throwing plates at one another. The crowd below wailed and dispersed as bits of glassine and food and an occasional chair rained down.

Then more screams, this time toward the entrance. All eyes turned again to see a huge floral display burning. The majordomo remained calm. "Nothing to fear. It's taken care of." The mass backed away, and murmured anxiously. Fire droids dropped from their housings and sped through the ballroom to hover over the display and cover it with a fine mist of flame retardant.

The guests were calming, but still shaken, babbling amongst themselves. Not one of them was looking at them.

Xizor turned back to Lylla, who hadn't seemed to notice the commotion. His grin was that of restrained triumph. Unhurriedly and still holding her wrist, he began backing toward the archway, gently pulling her with him.

Lylla's voice was thin as she half stated, half pleaded, "I can't do this…"

"Ssssshhh," he hushed. "Of course you can…"

* * *

Vader watched Xizor and Lylla disappear beneath him as he led her to the exit. "Jixton, now."

The order crackled through Jix’s comlink. "On my way."

He swept out of the antechamber and down the stairs, but halted abruptly at the bottom. Reaching for his breastplate, he drew and held his breath as he switched off his breather. Through the mirror he saw Xizor enter the darkened corridor, pulling Lylla with him. He heard Xizor soothing her; "Come, I know a place. It's very private, no one staring or talking…" Xizor pulled her to his side and placed a hand round her cinched waist, leading her down the hall.

"No," Lylla protested weakly, bringing a hand to her forehead. "I can't…Lord Vader will be angry…"

"If Lord Vader was concerned about you, he'd be here caring for you, wouldn't he?"

Vader curled his fist. But he must let this continue until the time was right.

Just as Xizor and Lylla turned the far corner, Jixton appeared in the archway. Vader came out and turned his breather back on. He took several long breaths, and motioned for Jix to come forward. "The fire was a bit excessive," he said.

Jix put his hands on his hips. "You wanted a big distraction, and I delivered. Be happy I didn't use a thermal detonator, cuz I thought about it."

"And the argument?"

"Oh, that. Seems the ambassador from Zorbia II insulted the wife of Count Inderell of Hicripia. I wish I could take credit for that, but that was just gravy." He grinned. "You have to admit, the timing was outstanding, wasn't it?"

Vader didn't let Jix to bask in his accomplishment. "Follow them, and keep the link open."

"There's something you should know."

"What?"

"The Emperor isn't on his throne. He's gone."

Vader straightened, then nodded once. "Good work. Now go." He watched Jix move down the hall, falling into the shadows with the casual stealth that made him so good at his job. He backed into the secret door again, then went up the stairs. Looking through the mirror, he turned to the empty throne.

 _**Do not fail me, Lylla**_ he sent.

* * *

"I won't," Lylla murmured, barely audible.

"Pardon, Madame?"

She blinked. "What?"

"You just said something."

"I did?"

Xizor laughed softly. Lylla, in her haze, laughed with him, and even leaned her cheek into his shoulder for a brief moment. But before he could take full advantage of the gesture, she immediately straightened up and stepped away until, once again, a breeze could pass between them.

He raised an eyebrow as he regarded her. Her tolerance to tarigash was considerable, and certainly impressive. By this time most women would have had him up against the nearest wall, skirts bunched around their waists, legs wrapped around his torso as he vigorously gave them what they had voraciously begged for. But not this one— she was intoxicated, yes, and even a tad flirtatious, but hardly what he would call wanton. Even in her induced bliss, she kept her manners—and her distance. Xizor found himself more intrigued than before and even pleased that, for the first time in a very, very long time, a challenge had finally presented herself.

He slipped his hand from her waist and came in front of her, taking her hand. "We're almost there. Close your eyes." Lylla complied with a soft giggle. As they walked, a warm breeze blew a curtain of sweet fragrance over her. She felt the floor beneath her boots change from marble to clay tile. Xizor pulled her a little further before stopping. "Open them."

Lylla raised her lids and gasped. She found herself surrounded by the most spectacular garden she had ever seen. Flora of every imaginable color bloomed from ornate pots or twisted around thick deep-veined marble pillars. Statues and benches carved from precious stone were meticulously displayed throughout the expansive terrace. A lofty trestle had been erected up and over the garden to allow the lights of the city-planet to softly illuminate its beauty, and its struts were entwined with flowering ivy all the way to the top. The Throneworld's magnificent skyline loomed over them, and the softened music from the ballroom floated over the open balcony on the palace side.

"You like?" Xizor asked. He dropped her hand and backed away, his arms spread wide in a sweeping gesture. "Every precious flowering plant from the Core Worlds is displayed here, and the sculptures are all priceless works of art. I had this garden built for the Emperor. It was my gift, in celebration of his coronation."

Lylla turned in a slow circle, her mouth agape, as she took it all in. "It's beautiful," she breathed. She turned to him over her shoulder. Her voice was low, throaty. "You're a generous one, aren't you?"

It seemed the taringash had finally kicked in; there was no denying that smooth, sensuous smile. Xizor returned it. "Only to those I am fond of."

"Or to those you fear?" She saw his smile lessen and his eyes narrow. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that, I…" She began to giggle. Then she grasped her full skirt and sent it billowing around her as she twirled across the terrace, stumbling just a tad, her peals of laughter mingling with the music from inside. She spun until she came upon a pillar. She lifted her arms and lazed against it with a soft moan, then looked at him over her shoulder. "Didn't you promise me a dance?"

"Why, I believe I did." His slender hands went to the top fasteners of his elegant coat. "Allow me a moment, dear lady." He backed a few steps, his eyes and smooth smile fixed upon her, before turning and walking to one of the benches, peeling the jacket off his arms. As he neatly folded the jacket and placed it carefully on the bench, he glanced quickly to the ballroom balcony. When he saw a gnarled hand gesture from behind the drapery, he was assured that the Emperor had taken his place there, ready to observe the imminent outcome.

And unbeknownst to all of them, another pair of eyes intently watched from the deep shadows of the arched walkway, with his finger positioned on his comlink.

With his back turned, Xizor couldn't see Lylla's face change. He didn't see her eyes narrow with raw contempt, or her smile smear into a snarl. He was completely unaware that she was using every bit of the control she had left not to bolt at him and scratch out his eyes. 

He had drugged her. But as to how, she couldn't guess. She hadn't drunk or eaten anything all night, so the drug had to be on his person somewhere. His cologne, perhaps? The method was irrelevant, really. This lecherous prince, however, hadn't taken into account her high levels of tolerance. She had smoked her first death stick at the age of eight, had her first taste of glimmerspice at ten, and by the time she was sixteen, she had mastered the method of cutting Black Razor into her skin without leaving a scar: and although this drug was interesting, its effect wasn't nearly what the prince had been hoping for. But it was enough to render her muddled and vulnerable. She cursed herself for letting that remark slip, but was relieved she had been able to recover. _Hold your tongue,_ she told herself, until the time is right. She had to remain focused, solid.

Lylla was angry. Vader had made it quite clear that Xizor and he were not friendly, so she could only guess that all this was some sort of retaliation on Xizor's part. Then why did Vader just hand her off to him, in front of all to see? Anger seethed in her gut as she suspected that this was some sort of courtly practice not covered in her protocol lessons. _This custom seems to be universal,_ she thought bitterly. _Wouldn't be the first time I was handed off to someone._ But she never suspected that Vader would do this to her. She understood that she was not his equal, but she thought that she had at least gained his respect, if nothing else.

As she watched Xizor remove the enormous diamond pin from his throat and unwrap the cravat from his neck, she ground her teeth under her painted lips. She would be no man's plaything, not anymore, no matter who that man was. She had just escaped a life of degradation and ownership, and she would die before going back. She would show all of them—Xizor, the Emperor, even Vader himself—that she would never be toyed with again.

As she eyed the Falleen prince across the garden, she smirked through her scowl. So, Xizor fancied himself the master of seduction.

The master was about to meet his match.

* * *


	2. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turning point.

* * *

Lylla instantly wiped the glare from her face as Xizor turned around. Although he was tall like Vader, his build was quite different. _Gods damn it, he is attractive, isn't he?_ Lylla thought. _Bastard_. His body was long and, unlike Vader's powerful physique, slenderly sculpted. A cream silk shirt opened to show his lean chest, his shoulders were broad and slim muscles flowed under smooth green skin. A royal purple sash accentuated his waist and his legs were strapping under close-fitting trousers.

With an inviting smile, Xizor lifted his hand to beckon her. "Shall we dance?"

She returned his smile, lightly pushing herself off the pillar. Even through the satin bell of her skirt, he could see the swing in her hips as she strolled toward him. When she reached him, she gave him her hand. He drew her close, but not too close, leaving a gap of air between them.

"Here," he said, "you put this here." He placed her hand on his shoulder. "And I put mine…here." His hand settled in the curve of her waist.

"This isn't the same dance," she noted.

"It isn't the same song," he replied. Starting at her shoulder, he traced a lacquered fingernail down the inside of her arm. She suppressed a shudder. "This is a dance from my homeworld of Falleen, a much simpler dance than a spritinal. No confusing steps, no athletics, and far more…" He reached her hand and laced his long fingers into hers, "informal."

"One might even say 'intimate'," she added in a sultry murmur.

He raised a brow. "One might." He pulled her a little closer. "Just follow me." He began lightly swaying side to side, shifting his weight from foot to foot to the unhurried, sensual strings of the music coming from the ballroom. She moved with him. "That's it, just like that. Now…" With his hand on her waist, he stepped back and began to turn her in a circle, never breaking the rhythm. She mirrored his movements perfectly. His sinning smile returned. "My lady is far too hard on herself. You are an exceptional dancer."

Her vision sharpened and expanded, as the narcotic coming off him once again affected her. She tried to fight it, concentrating on her own willpower. But it was difficult; she could feel the music undulate through his lean body, even through the layers of her gown. The way he moved was so unlike Vader—where Vader could make the ground quake under his foot, Xizor seemed to glide above it. The feel of his large hand on her waist sent currents through her. Her loins involuntarily tightened in response.

Xizor studied her as well. This was no nobleman's daughter or sister of an industry czar as he had first guessed. Society women often attempted to imitate the magnetism of a brazen woman, but rarely succeeded: There was no imitation here. He knew from the moment she made her entrance, she was wholly aware of her effect on men, and even on women. Underneath the haute-galaxa dress and cool manner, a practiced sexuality simmered—she virtually prowled as they danced, moving her body more like a courtesan than a countess. She had picked up every signal he had given her and responded with equal skill. Her response was more than just a tarigash influence. She had done this before. Many times.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Lylla's eyes flickered. "I thought that had already been established. I am Lylla Sa'thraxxx, Inquisitor for—"

"That's not what I meant." His face turned serious. "No one has ever seen or heard of you before. And suddenly you appear out of nowhere, astounding all who lay eyes on you—a Minarian blood-rose that grows from the compost of this," he rolled his eyes toward the ballroom's balcony, "obsequious rabble." She laughed, Xizor thought, a little uneasily. "And on the arm of none other than the most feared and powerful man in the galaxy. Well, besides me." Lylla laughed again and cast her eyes down. "Tell me, where did you and Lord Vader meet? How did you—"

"Ssssshhhh," she hushed. She leaned in closer, and smiled. "Here we are, in this magnificent garden, with this exquisite music and your arms around me…and all you want to talk about is Lord Vader?"

"You're avoiding the question. Who are you?"

Lylla looked into his eyes. She traced a long fingernail from his shoulder to his neck, running it up and down in whisper-light strokes and asked, "Who do you want me to be?"

Xizor stopped momentarily and chuckled. "You intend to stay a mystery. That is quite alright, dear lady. I'll play." He started to move again, and she followed. The hand that had been at her waist slid to the small of her back and pressed her against him. Soon, it traveled upwards, underneath her cascade of curls, until his fingers reached the bare skin between her shoulders and traced little circles with his talons. He drew their hands in and rested them on his chest. Despite her effort to squelch her response, a quiver traveled through her body. She couldn't entirely blame the narcotic coming off him; truth be told, the feel of a hand made of flesh and bone on her flesh was arousing-- and she hated herself for it. His body was smooth and taut against hers and radiated into her, even through the stiff fabric of her corset. Attempting to maintain control, Lylla dug her nails into the meat of her hand. _Hang on, woman. Just a little more time,_ she urged herself, _just a few minutes more, and I'll have him exactly where I want him…_

"I wish you could see my skyhook," Xizor whispered, his breath puffing against her cheek. "My palace in the sky, my sanctuary in the heavens. The view of The Throneworld from my balcony is unlike anything you have ever seen. My collection of exotic wines is unsurpassed, I have chosen the finest art from all over the galaxy to adorn my treasured home and…" He stopped, and chuckled. "I'm bragging, aren't I?"

_Excessively_. "Not at all," Lylla murmured.

Xizor's expression became earnest. His tone deepened. "Lylla—may I call you Lylla?" Batting her lashes, she nodded. He sighed. "Even your name is a song."

_Gods damn you, Xizor,_ Lylla growled in her mind as she felt her nipples stiffen against her corset.

"I have very few weaknesses, Lylla. In fact, I have only one; and that is …" He gingerly pulled his talon over her bare shoulder, "…for beauty in all of its forms. I apologize for my curiosity concerning your arrangement with Lord Vader but, you see, I…" He snared her eyes within his, "I cannot fathom how a creature such as you could have ever escaped my notice for so long." He squeezed her hand. "I take back what I said in the ballroom. I am a jealous man after all."

In this proximity to him, the drug was stronger than ever, and her charade was in danger of becoming very real. His voice resounded as a soft hymn of passion in her ear. She was drunk by his scent, her legs were weak beneath her, her heart beat hard and fast. Her breathing became ragged as she came nearer and nearer to succumbing to him…

"If you were my woman, I would show you off as the priceless jewel you are, and not hide you in some darkened fortress, having you scurry away under the cover of night—"

His words slapped Lylla out of her carnal trance. She stopped the dance. "And what makes you say that?"

Xizor was speechless for the briefest moment, but it was long enough for Lylla to see trepidation spark in his golden eyes before he once again donned that broad, confident smile. "I can only guess, dear lady, seeing as Lord Vader has hidden you away for so long until tonight."

Lylla's thoughts kicked into hyperdrive. He had mentioned his palace, called it a skyhook—and she remembered the unusual palace off in the distance from Vader's fortress, the only other structure that shared its altitude. How could he have possibly known about her escapes in the night, unless…?

_He's been spying on us._

And whatever effect that damned drug had on her instantly evaporated into the breeze.

She leaned back into him, resting her hands on his chest, and let out a coquettish giggle before looking into his eyes. "I'm feeling a bit woozy, your Highness. Could we end this dance and just…talk?" She fluttered her thick lashes. "Perhaps share the view with me?"

"By all means, my lovely one," Xizor murmured, snaking an arm around her waist and leading her to the balcony rail. Lylla wanted nothing more than to smack that smug air of victory off his face. But she merely smiled back.

The unseen eyes watching them also shifted positions. The Emperor pulled the heavy drape hiding him aside, allowing him a better view. From his hiding place in the darkness behind a meter-thick marble pillar, Wrenga Jixton crouched even lower. He raised the comlink to his lips and whispered, "I think you should come down here. Now."

Lylla placed her hands upon the rail, stretching her long neck up and breathing in the cool night air. She opened her eyes to gaze at the electric wonder of The Throneworld spread before her. "It is beautiful, isn't it?" she breathed.

Xizor leaned on the rail. "Yes, it is." He stared at her graceful throat, caged as it was in that gem-studded collar, before lifting his eyes to her face. "And it could all be yours, Lylla."

She didn't face him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean come home with me tonight."

"Xizor," she whimpered with well-played anguish, "I belong to Vader. I can't—"

"Yes, you can," he corrected, a tad impatiently. He gripped her by the shoulders, pulling her close. "The Emperor may hold the throne, but I hold The Throneworld. And this…" He gestured to the soaring skyline, "could beckon to your every whim." She gasped against him. "You could have everything you ever desired. I would dress you in gowns designed for a queen. I will take you to the most exclusive restaurants and resorts, have you pampered in the galaxy's most luxurious spas, and lavish you with the finest jewels. You would be the toast of Throneworld society, and the envy of every woman in the galaxy. And pleasure? Ah, Lylla…" He caressed her cheek with his long claws and ran his thumb over her full lips. "My skills as a lover are unmatched. I could bring you to heights of ecstasy you've never even imagined." He pressed his lips against her ear and whispered, "I can give you anything, Lylla, anything you want."

She slid her hands up his arms and grasped his shoulders. "Anything, Xizor?" she whispered excitedly.

"Anything, my pet." He laced his long fingers into her hair, intent on ravishing her lips and sealing her fate—

"Can you make me Empress?"

For the briefest moment, it seemed the night had stopped motion. Xizor froze, not entirely sure he had heard her right. Slowly, he pulled back, and dropped his hands. And as he watched Lylla's face harden from breathless surrender to cold contempt, he was assured his ears had not failed him. She chuckled mockingly. "I didn't think so." She patted his chest. "Oh, Xizor. You're good, I'll give you that. But you're not that good."

Xizor stood shocked and still, his expression that of livid confusion. "What is this? Some kind of joke?"

"Yes, it is, Xizor. Rather like the one you just tried to play on me." She backed away from him, glaring nails into his skull. "Did you honestly believe you could seduce me into betraying Darth Vader, the most powerful man in the galaxy, the NEXT Emperor? And for what? Some pretty dresses, a few trinkets, and a good fuck?" Her smile grew when his scowl deepened. "You think I'd settle for a nice meal, a manicure…" She raised her arm and pointed at the heavens, "When I could have THAT, the GALAXY, ALL of it!" Her husky contralto grew cold. "I am not about to throw everything away for the likes of you. My days of being just another mare in someone's stable are long over."

"I knew it," Xizor snarled. "From the first moment I met you, with your Outer Rim accent and your clumsiness, I knew you for what you really are. Vader can spend all the wealth in the galaxy to dress you up like a princess, but it doesn't hide the fact that you are nothing more than a common SLUT."

"I prefer to think I'm not all that common," she retorted calmly. She sauntered toward him. "And besides, I may be a slut, but I'm a slut you couldn't seduce." She placed her hands on her hips. "What does that say about you, Xizor?"

He roughly grabbed her arm. "So, the little whore intends to fuck her way to the galactic throne. That is rich, my dear. I wonder what Lord Vader, not to mention the Emperor, would have to say about your little plan—"

"And I wonder what Lord Vader will say when I tell him you spied on his woman, then drugged her and tried to bed her right under his nose. I wonder what he'll do when he discovers it was YOU who told the media about us.”

Xizor loosened his grip on her arm, even as wrath simmered in his eyes. "You can't prove it."

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is which one he’ll believe. And it won’t be you."

Xizor angrily jerked away, then sneered when he turned back. "Not only are you a second-rate whore, but a perverted one as well. To think you actually spread your legs for that abomination—"

"He is more man than you will EVER be," she growled.

"The Emperor—"

"Is a decaying old man and can't live forever."

He came at her. "You really are stupid, aren't you? The Emperor would never leave his realm to a clanking tin soldier, a mutilated little errand boy who bends and sues at his every whim!" Cruel amusement seeped into his tone. "But perhaps that is your lot in life, hmm? You are obviously not getting any younger, my sweet—not as easy to turn the trick as it was?" He laughed. "You cannot even attract a whole man! Just a shambling mound of wires and bolts—"

Lylla threw her hand back and viciously slapped Xizor full force across the face. Thrown off by the blow, he regained his footing, brought his hand to his face, and pulled it away to see blood smeared across his palm from the gouges Lylla left with her nails. He raised his yellow eyes, now roiling pits of acid. "You dare strike me, you BITCH!" He lunged at her and grabbed her by the neck. Lylla screamed and drove her nails right for Xizor's eyes—

"Remove your hands, Falleen."

Xizor and Lylla both froze. She heard the labored artificial breathing behind her, and she saw the viciousness leach from Xizor's face into a hard stare of defeat. She snapped her head around to see the Dark Lord materialize from the darkness. "Come here, Inquisitor Sa'thraxxx." Lylla yanked herself out of Xizor's grip and rushed to the Dark Lord. Vader motioned to her to stay where she was and then, with elegant malice, strolled over to the Falleen prince. Stopping just a hand's width from him, he allowed Xizor a few moments to bask in the wheeze of his respirator. "Prince Xizor," he addressed him calmly, "if I ever see you touch, or even LOOK at anything of mine again…I promise you, you will not share the same merciful fate your family did by dying quickly. Your death will be slow. And extremely painful. And public."

Xizor let out a scathing chuckle. "You will never truly understand who you are dealing with, will you? You regard me as some philandering fool who should tremble in the presence of the all mighty Darth Vader." He stepped even closer to the Dark Lord. "I own this planet, Vader—nay, all of the Core Worlds. I am an Emperor in my own right. My forces may not be as vast as yours, but neither are they the docile half-wit drones you call soldiers. My men are quick, cunning…and you will never see them coming."

"Then I will make it a point not to look, your Highness," Vader replied.

Xizor shot a disgusted glare at Lylla. "Take your slattern, Vader. I have no use for her."

"Of course not. Few men of your caliber have use for a woman who can outwit them." With that, he turned and casually walked back toward Lylla.

"Mark my words, Darth Vader!" Xizor hissed. "I WILL have my revenge!"

"And I will have mine." Vader turned slightly over his shoulder as he added, "And it will be much sooner than you think." With that, he took Lylla's arm and escorted her into the shadowed walkway. Wrenga Jixton also stepped out of the darkness, tossing Xizor a wicked grin and salute as he followed.

Xizor stood for moment before he walked to one of the priceless sculptures where, with typical Falleen strength and fury, he lifted it off its pedestal and hurled it to the ground, smashing it into a dozen jagged chunks. He looked up to the palace balcony.

Palpatine came out of his hiding place to stand at the rail of his balcony. He closed his gnarled hands over the top of his walking stick and glared down at the defeated Falleen. Xizor opened his mouth as if to speak, but then fell silent again as he cast his eyes to the ground. The Emperor stared into the darkness after his apprentice and his woman, and murmured to no one, "It seems I have vastly underestimated Vader's little bed-warmer."

* * *

"You came just in time," Lylla murmured to the Dark Lord as they walked through the darkened corridor. "Another moment and he may have—AAH! Vader, you're hurting me—!"

Vader cut her off by throwing her against the wall and clamping his massive hand over her mouth. "I did not give you permission to speak," he hissed into her face. With a jerk of his head, he ordered Jix to continue walking. Jix gave Lylla a sympathetic shrug before obliging his employer and hurrying back to the ballroom. Vader dropped his hand, grabbed her arm and forcibly pulled her back to the ballroom. Lylla's breaths came in frightened bursts.

Once they approached the ballroom's arched entrance, Vader slowed his fierce gait. He jerked her to his side. "You will keep my pace, you will acknowledge the guests, and you will NOT make a scene. Am I understood?" Gaping at him with huge frightened eyes, Lylla nodded. Grabbing her hand, he placed it atop of his and led her out into the ballroom. As they entered, the surrounding guests gasped at their sudden appearance. Vader acknowledged them with a reserved nod as they elegantly strolled across the floor. Lylla smiled at them, despite the weight of the terror crushing against her chest.

But once they had reached the other side and disappeared through the exit, Vader's fury had returned stronger than ever. He broke into an unyielding march, gripping her wrist and pulling her through the corridor. As Lylla struggled to keep up, her foot caught in her skirts and she fell. But Vader did not stop—he charged ahead and dragged her on the floor behind him. "Vader, please, stop!" she begged, grabbing at his cape, “Please, nothing happened, I swear it! I did nothing wrong!" Ignoring her pleas, he yanked her up off the floor and threw her over his shoulder, hauling her up the flight of stairs and down the corridor that led to his private chamber.

Swiping the doors open with a sharp wave of his hand, he stormed into the center of the room and dumped her onto the floor. Lylla cried out when she landed hard. "Vader," she implored, "you don't understand—"

"Your caterwauling is growing tiresome,” Vader said, his modulated voice as cold as space itself. “On your knees.” Lylla’s face twisted in despair as she moved to onto her knees. "Remove your collar." She lifted her trembling hands to the back of her neck, unlatched the lock, and pulled the heavy jeweled collar off her neck. Vader stepped toward her. "Give me your throat."

Lylla tipped her head back, tears like acid in her eyes. A strangled sob escaped her throat when the crackle of energy ignited the air, followed by a low electric hum. She opened her eyes to see Vader standing above her, his armor and mask illuminated electric red by the lightsaber he held across his chest. He pointed the blade's tip between her breasts. Lylla felt its current vibrate against her skin. She tried to control her violent trembling, fearing that any movement would bring her closer to her death…

"You wanted him," Vader finally rumbled.

"No," Lylla rasped.

"Do not lie to me, girl." He drew the tip of the lightsaber up to the hollow of her throat. "You enjoyed being in his arms."

"Vader—"

"His body, whole and intact, against yours."

"Please stop—"

"You wanted to bed him.”

"No!"

"Another lie?"

"HE DRUGGED ME!”

"DID YOU WANT HIM?"

"YES!" she screamed. No longer capable of any restraint, Lylla violently wept.

He paused. "But you resisted him."

She swallowed her sobs. "Yes."

"How?" She raised her left hand and opened it. There were four bloody crescent-moons gouged into her palm. "Why did you resist him?"

"How can you ask me that?" she whispered.

"What did he offer you?" He circled her, still holding her at bay with his lightsaber. She could smell the burn of stray hairs singed by the blade's tip. "Riches? Luxury?" He paused. "Pleasure?" Vader came around to face her. "A proposal for which many women would give up everything. But it wasn't enough for you, was it? As tempting as it was, it's hardly comparable to becoming Empress, is it?"

_Oh gods._ "Please let me explain—"

"Is this what we are, Lylla?" he asked. "Is that why you came to me that night on the Death Star, why you gave me your body?"

"No! I didn't mean it the way it sounded—”

"That is what you told Xizor."

"Yes!" she snapped, even as the lightsaber hummed at her throat. "That is what I told Xizor. And the Emperor." His helm tilted. She let out a bitter huff. "Do you all think me so dense that I’d never suspect he was there watching the entire time?"

"You wanted the Emperor to hear?” Vader asked. “Why?"

"Because if the Emperor believes that I feel NOTHING for you, that I am only using you, he will not try to tear us apart!" She saw Vader straighten in response and lower the saber slightly. "I don't have to be a Force-sensitive to see that he despises me. I’m a threat, I could almost taste his jealousy." She looked at him unflinchingly. "As long as he thinks that I am nothing more than a silly ambitious whore, he'll be convinced that you'll get rid of me. And until then, he'll leave us alone."

"He has already heard you pledge your devotion to me," he reminded her.

She raised an eyebrow. “For all he knows, I could have been lying, just playing you to get what I want."

"Were you, Lylla?" Vader asked, and for once, the emotionless drone of his vocoder did nothing to mask the the hint of betrayal in his voice.

Lylla stopped trembling. “You told me once you knew when someone was lying," she said. "So…” She raised herself to her knees, the hollow of her throat just a whisper from the tip, “you can run that blade through my throat, and I would welcome it because my life is yours.” Her eyes glistened, but she set her jaw firm. “So tell me, my beloved Lord-- am I lying?”

Nothing was said for a fleeting eternity, the hum of his lightsaber and the breathing of his mask the only sounds in the room. Eventually, the red beam shrank back into its hilt. He clipped it back onto his belt and turned, walking a few steps away. "You may stand." She did, ignoring the weakness in her legs, pushing the strands loosened from her hairstyle off her damp brow. Vader stood motionless for several moments before turning over his shoulder. "The Emperor is correct in one thing. You are clever."

Lylla exhaled. "Thank you, my lord."

He turned fully around. "Your trial is now complete."

"Trial?" She lifted her head and squinted at him. "What trial? What are you talking about?"

"This night would prove to me whether or not you were truly loyal," he said bluntly. "You used your talents and cunning to show me the full range of your capabilities, and you remained faithful under the most pressing of circumstances. You have exceeded my expectations. You have demonstrated yourself worthy as my consort."

Lylla’s jaw slacked as she gawked at him. "Are you saying that this was all…a test? The entire night, the Emperor?" She bit the name through her teeth. "Xizor?"

"Yes," he replied.

"And this," she pointed to where she was just kneeling, "What just happened here…this was part of the 'trial'?"

"Yes."

A fuse lit deep in Lylla's core. "And if I had failed, what would you have done? Would you have killed me?"

"No. Had you failed, I would have sent you back to where I found you."

The fuse ignited into an explosion. "You BASTARD!" She hurled herself at him, madly swinging her fists. She actually landed two blows and just missed the sensitive control panel in his breastplate before Vader caught her wrists and viciously pinned them behind her. Lylla still thrashed and screamed, "How could you do this to me?! How could you put me through that?! What am I to you, a GAME?"

"Control yourself, woman!"

"Or what! You'll throw me to your stormtroopers like a piece of meat to a pack of dogs, because obviously THAT IS ALL I AM? Just like the Emperor said, a WORTHLESS PLAYTHING?” She shrieked with rage as she struggled in his grip. "Let go of me, you son of a WHORE!"

Her screams turned into a pained yelp when Vader grabbed her hair and yanked her into the hard grid of his respirator. "If you want to live to see another day," he fumed in a voice wholly entrenched in the Dark Side, "you will NEVER call me that again."

"That's right, Vader," she hissed into his mask, "threaten me into submission, terrorize me into obedience like you do those sniveling rats you call 'officers' that cower at the very sight of you—"

"If you didn't conduct yourself like a bitch in heat by wandering off with some lecherous reptile for the whole galaxy to see—"

"You MADE me dance with him! You set me up!"

He clamped his hand around her throat before he spoke again. "Let me make this perfectly clear to you, Madame Sa'thraxxx. Your words, your deeds, your existence, your very NAME are no longer your own. You are nothing more than a symbol of my rank, as are my troops, my ships, or anything that is mine! Everything you are belongs to me! I OWN you!"

Lylla stopped struggling and wilted in his grasp. The white fire in her eyes was snuffed out, and her expression disintegrated from rage to anguish. "Nothing's changed, has it?" she whispered. "I’ll always be someone's..." She clenched her eyes shut. "Please let me go."

Vader slowly released his hold on her, and she slid from his grip. Lylla stumbled to his desk and leaned on the edge, cradling her head in her hand as she quietly wept. He forced his anger down. "I see we still have much work ahead of us. If you are to prove yourself capable—"

He was cut off when Lylla suddenly howled, "Prove myself, prove myself, PROVE MYSELF!" She broke into a furious pace around his desk. "What more do I have to do, Vader? I have given you everything I have—my body, my heart, my LIFE—and STILL it is not enough!" She stopped to face him, and hit the desk with her fists. "Why do you treat me like this!? Why can't you trust me!?"

"Because I will NOT be betrayed by ANOTHER WOMAN!" Vader erupted.

"I AM NOT _HER!"_ Lylla exploded back at him. "You think you're the only one living with her ghost? She hangs over my kriffing head every minute of every day!” She hit the table with every mention of Padme. “ _She_ betrayed you, _she_ lied to you, _she_ brought that Jedi to mutilate you and leave you for dead, while I have never done anything but follow your every command and worship the ground you walk on! I have had enough, Vader! I will NOT be punished for the deeds of that simpering, spoiled, stupid girl--”

__

__

"YOU WILL NOT SPEAK OF HER THAT WAY, SA’THRAXXX!" Vader bellowed.

Lylla shrieked like an animal and hurled her arms across the desktop, sending datapads and flimsies flying in all directions. She staggered out onto the balcony and sank to her knees, collapsing on the rail. Her body quaked with loud brutal sobbing.

Vader stalked back and forth across the chamber like a caged Rancor. _Infuriating, reckless, disobedient female!_ He clenched and unclenched his fists, battling to control the fury that threatened to engulf the entire palace. "STOP CRYING!" he barked at her. "Learn to control your emotions! If you are to be my consort, then you will have to—" He was again cut off by her screaming in savage frustration. She heaved herself up and stormed across the chamber toward the door. "Where do you think you are going?" he demanded.

"Home!"

He captured her arm. "You do not have my permission to leave!"

"Then GRANT it!" she spat. Their eyes locked in a steadfast glare for many long moments. Some of Lylla's hair had come undone from her headdress, and her painted face was smeared from crying. But her eyes flashed dangerously and then… her black pupils widened, eclipsing her white eyes all the way to the corners, and the Dark Side of the Force engulfed her entire essence, like it swarmed to her to feed on her fury… 

His cock hardened against his codpiece. Another second and he would bend her over that desk and take her right there. Not here. Not with the Emperor in the palace.

Vader dragged her to the doors. They slid open to reveal Wrenga Jixton jumping away from the spot where he had been listening the entire time. Vader shoved her into the hall. "Fetch Madame Sa'thraxxx's cloak and take her back to her apartments," he ordered Jix. "Leave by the loading docks on the lower level and use a fully enclosed service speeder. And make absolutely certain you are not followed."

"Yes sir, Uncle D." Jix turned to Lylla and flashed her a grin. "A pleasure, Madame."

Lylla pulled herself together, and when she turned around, her eyes had returned to their frosted white. She smoothed her mussed hair back and stood tall and proud. "You are Lord Vader's man, the one who was spying on me in the garden?"

He gave a slight shrug. "Just following orders, ma'am." 

Lylla nodded, pursed her lips…and slapped him across the face. She then turned on her heel and marched down the corridor. 

Jix brought a hand to his stinging cheek. "Nice to meet you, too." He turned to Vader. “You’d think her hand would hurt by now.” 

Vader watched her as she disappeared down the stairs. Eventually, he turned to return to his chamber when Jixton said, “Lord Vader.” He looked back to the Corellian, who rarely ever used his proper title. Jix subtly smirked. “She’s perfect.” 

The Dark Lord said nothing. He went inside and the doors hissed quietly behind him.

* * *

Lylla hadn't moved in her seat since they had left the palace, her cheek in her hand, staring blankly out the dark tinted window at the frenzy of The Throneworld's passing speeder traffic. Jix glanced at the enigmatic scarlet-haired woman sitting next to him as he drove. He debated whether he should try to engage her in conversation, figured that it was probably unwise, and then decided to do it anyway. "You did very well out there this evening."

"Did I ask for your opinion?" She sounded exhausted.

"No," he sighed. "Just thought you might want some cheering up."

"I don't."

Jix drew his lips into a thin line and shrugged. He let a moment pass before he spoke again. "I've worked for Lord Vader for a while now and, I can tell you, I've never heard him raise his voice like that before."

"Like what? Like a rabid Cammendon?"

"Exactly." Lylla slid her eyes from the window to look at Jix. He continued. "I've heard him bark orders, but I've never heard him sound so…passionate." He looked at her. "You are special, Madame. He needs you."

She scoffed through her nose. "Oh yes, he needs me. That's why he threatened to kill me tonight."

"Puh-leeze," Jix said. "Uncle D threatens to kill me at least once a week. If he didn't, THEN I'd be worried. Trust me, if he wanted you dead, he wouldn't give you any warning. You'd just be dead."

"Then what does he want?" she asked wearily.

"Look, I don’t know your story, but let me tell you something," said Jix. "All those women there at the ball, the princesses, the noblewomen and the heiresses? He could have summoned any one of those women to his bed at any time, and not one would have dared defy him. Hell, he could have a harem that would make Xizor's girls look like a credit a dance. But he doesn't. And do you know why?" She shook her head. "Because he's been waiting for the woman who could see beyond the mask." His voice grew soft. "Because he chose you, Madame.”

She eyed him sidelong. “He told you that?”

"Of course not. But the risks he took with you tonight told me everything."

Lylla drew a deep breath and set her knuckles on her lips, and Jix recognized the gesture as someone keeping her emotions at bay. Finally, shook herself stoic. "You seem very loyal to Lord Vader."

Jix shrugged. "He saved my life."

Her thoughts drifted to her last few hours on the Death Star. "He saved mine too." She said nothing more.

He fixed his eyes back on the throughway. "By the way, in case you were wondering, my name is Jixton."

"Do me a favor."

"What?"

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window. "Don't talk anymore, Jixton."

* * *


	3. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fate of the galaxy is set into motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Rated Explicit. Please take note of that before continuing. 
> 
> I have noticed a substantial uptick in hits on FanFiction.Net for the rest of this installment. I am both honored and flattered. However, as I have said, this is a remastering of that story. This chapter is taking the story in an entirely new direction. The "scaffolding" is the same, but I have changed much of the plot going forward. 
> 
> I want to thank everyone for their readership, comments, and kudos. I am deeply touched. I am very proud of this work, and I certainly hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

The enormous halogen drones that blazed the night skies had been extinguished, blanketing Imperial City once again in night, signaling the end of all Coronation Day festivities. Out of the dark, a black speeder tank and its bike escort pulled silently into the port of Lylla’s luxury penthouse. Two stormtroopers climbed out of the midsection, flanking each side of the door as Lord Vader rose from his seat and stepped out. "Form a perimeter around the port."

"Yes, my Lord," said the sergeant. He signaled two troops on speeder bikes to hover above the port, and another two to guard the other side of the building as Vader walked to the large glassine doors.

He waved his hand, using the Force to unlock the codes. Just as he stepped into the unlit living area, Lylla's servant girl, Palissa, was coming from the galley with a steaming cup and saucer in her hand. She was about to cross to the set of stairs leading to her mistress' bedroom when she saw the towering Dark Lord standing in the doors. She inhaled to scream, but fell silent when Vader passed his hand again. The cup and saucer tipped out of her hand as she crumpled onto the divan behind her, asleep.

He moved through the dark and ascended the stairs that led him to an arched entrance in which he stood, perusing, Lylla's bedchamber. Her taste in decor was a far cry from the streamlined trends ubiquitous to the Throneworld. Fur rugs and silk pillows covered the floor, thick tapestries adorned the walls, and silk swags canopied the ceiling, giving the room a heavy primeval feel, like a lair from another time. The glow of the city-planet outside sifted softly through ceiling-high glassine windows. He looked to his left. Lylla's ball gown lay in a satin pool on the fur rug, her high heels and undergarments tossed on top of it, and her jewelry thrown across the vanity. 

He turned his attention to the huge round bed in the room’s center. Lylla laid nude on her side, her back to him, a black satin sheet draped over her hip. The light sculpted the dip in her waist and the elegant curve of her hip out of the darkness. Her black-laced scarlet hair had been cut for the night into loose curls around her neck. 

He listened to her breathing. "You're awake.”

She didn't move. "Yes."

"You were expecting me?"

Her voice was small and tired. "I don't know what to expect anymore." 

He came down the two steps into her chamber and around her bed. Bending down, he lifted her wrist. Finger-shaped bruises marred her arm. "I've damaged you."

"I've had worse." She drew her arm away and turned into the pillow.

Vader moved away from the bed to the windows. He planted himself there and clasped his hands behind his back, looking out at the Throneworld skyline. "I will be embarking on a mission to seek out the Rebel's fleet," he stated. "The final modifications are being made on my flagship, the _Executor_. Those modifications include the completion of your quarters." He waited for a response, and received none. He continued. "I have made arrangements for you to accompany me. You will find your quarters much larger than this, and you may arrange for any ornamentation you wish." Still no response. He turned over his shoulder. "Is this satisfactory to you?"

Lylla chuckled sadly. "Do I have a choice?"

A pause. "Yes." She peered over her shoulder at him. "You may remain here, in your current position, with no fear of repercussion. However,” he added, “before you make any decision, I strongly advise you consider the consequences if you stay here."

"I thought you just said there would be no repercussions—"

"Not from me," he said. "But there are several factors you must take into account. First of all, your face has been broadcast to the galaxy, therefore everyone now knows who you are. You will have no privacy. Reporters will follow you everywhere and post outside your complex. I can't execute every reporter in the galaxy, no matter how appealing the idea. And since I will be gone for over a year…" He felt her tense, "you may find your residency here less than favorable. Secondly, there is Xizor."

Lylla lifted herself onto her elbow. "What about Xizor?"

"You have insulted and humiliated him, actions he does not take lightly. Even under an armed escort, I fear you will prove a far less elusive target than I have been to him."

She stiffened. "Will he kill me?"

"Not likely. Too easy, and not very satisfying. Xizor's enemies merely disappear. Many of them are sold to the Kessel spice mines or the Corporate Sector as slaves." He paused. "Black Sun's influence spans the galaxy, and Xizor has almost as many agents as I have. You must understand that, despite my position and resources, there is the distinct possibility that I would never find you again. And then there is the Emperor—"

"I get it." Again, a hollow chuckle. "Then it seems I really don't have a choice, do I?" 

“You have one more,” Vader said, quietly. He paused again. ”You may leave, of your free will. You will be provided a new identity and means to live wherever you choose. And you will never see me again.”

Lylla’s breath stopped. “You… would let me go? Freely?” He did not answer or turn around. She clutched the sheet. “Do you want me to go?”

“That is not the question--”

“Do you,” she repeated, softly and emphatically, “want me to go?”

Vader drew as deep a breath as his respirator would allow him. “I do not.”

“Well then,” she murmured, “we're back to two choices, aren't we?” She turned back into her pillow, drew her knees to her chest, and pulled the sheet over her naked body.

The contentment he felt knowing Lylla would not leave him unnerved him somewhat. He turned away from the window and stepped to the foot of her bed, where he adjusted his cape and sat down. The labored breathing of his mask only seemed to make the moment between them that much heavier. "I know you are not…her," he finally said, quietly. "You are something…very different."

"Yes, I know. Amidala was your queen. I'm your property."

"Lylla," he exhaled with a hint of exasperation, "you must understand what is at stake here. What I said back at the palace was true—everything you do, everything you say, even your beliefs are all a reflection of me. It would take only one error in judgment on your part to undermine my power. It is vital that you conduct yourself in a manner conducive to your new status."

"So the way you choose to make your point is to trick and humiliate me?"

"I had to know that you could manage the intricacies of court life without constant guidance from me—"

"You had to know if I could keep my legs closed,” she snarled.

"In so many words, YES!" he barked, snapping his mask her direction. 

She sucked a ragged breath and folded herself even more into a ball under her sheet, her lip quivering. “Will you ever see me as anything other than what I was?”

Vader straightened and turned away again. “Do not presume to know how I perceive you, Lylla,” he said in a soft rumble.

Lylla rose up to look at him. Despite the intended warning, there was no mistaking the undercurrent of desire in his quiet baritone. She bit her lip. “Then why did you do this to me?”

“I assure you, I did not orchestrate any of it. I merely took advantage of a situation.”

"What do you mean?"

"This was the Emperor's doing, not mine," he told her. "He incorporated Xizor into his plan, for which I'm sure he more than eagerly complied. I told you the Emperor would use you against me. It was his intention to show you as unfit, to humiliate me and expose you as a common whore.” He paused. “You thwarted his plan. Not many in this galaxy can claim that honor.”

She smiled a bit at the compliment, even if somewhat bitterly. “He still thinks I’m a whore. It’s just that my ‘compensation’ was a little more substantial than he thought before.”

“I believe he actually revels in that. He enjoys those who crave power. It makes his games of destroying them far more interesting.” 

A shudder ran through her. “You warned me about this. I’m in danger, aren’t I?” 

"Yes, which is one reason I want you on this mission. You will be safe with me."

 _Safe with me_. Words never spoken to her before, they caused her stomach to flutter. But Lylla wasn't about to give in yet. "And what am I to do for the next year on your ship? Take up needlepoint while I wait for you to call me to your bed?"

“If you are insinuating that you will be kept, you are gravely mistaken. You will be Interrogator for the Executor."

Her brows went up in surprise, but she remained cool. "I see."

"And my personal linguist."

"Linguist?" she asked. "You know more languages than I do."

"And I will have no time to master any others, that will be your responsibility. It is my intention that you will earn everything I grant you. Including the title of Baroness."

Lylla blinked once, twice, before her feigned indifference disintegrated and she sprang upright in her bed. "What!?"

"It is a second-level rank within the Imperial peerage, and holds no real power within the nobility," Vader said. "However, seeing as you are now—"

"Why do you want to make me a Baroness?" Lylla asked, her tone sharp as a dagger.

Vader raised a brow under his mask. "This is not agreeable to you? I don't give out titles everyday."

"You didn't answer my question. Why do you want to make me a Baroness?"

"It is only fitting that my mistress is ranked within the nobility," he replied.

"No!" she snapped. "That is not the reason." She flung the sheet aside and bounded off the bed, falling on her knees before him. She clenched her slender hands around his thighs in frustration, and her white eyes pierced into the lenses of his mask. "First you threaten to kill me. Then you threaten to send me back into indenture. _Then_ you offer to let me go, and _now_ you want to make me a Baroness! I don't know where I stand with you from one minute to the next!” She grit her teeth. "Why do you want me on your ship, Vader? Why do you want ME? Tell me the reason!"

Vader abruptly rose and stalked away from her, planting himself in front of the windows once again and folding his massive arms over his chest. Lylla sat on the bed and dropped her head into her hands. Tears formed in her eyes, but she held them back with the heels of her hands as she waited for him to say something, anything...

“You want to know why I want you to come with me,” Vader finally said, albeit indignantly. “Very well, I shall tell you. I _need_ you.”

She snapped her head up to gawk at him. _He needs you,_ Jixton’s words echoed through her mind. “You… do?”

“Yes. I need you to help me overthrow the Emperor and kill him.” Lylla’s eyes sprang even wider and her jaw dropped. Vader went on as if he had said nothing extraordinary. “I have been preparing for this for over a decade. I have the sworn allegiance of the 501st and that of the Imperial Pilot Corp. My intelligence network is at its top efficiency, and my military branch is nearly complete. My agents have infiltrated many Outer Rim systems’ governments and municipalities, and have placed in power those who have pledged fealty to me and the new Empire. As for ships and weapons, there are procedures in place for requisitioning and recommissioning them to officers of my choosing.”

“You mean mutiny?” Lylla gasped. 

“It is not mutiny if the Imperial Navy is already mine,” Vader replied. “There are a number in the Admiralty disillusioned with the Emperor’s lack of leadership and his indifference to the current military defeats. I am filling that vacuum. The Emperor’s loss of the Death Star was my gain.”

Something in his tone suggested that event was not entirely happenstance. Lylla’s brow furrowed as a slow realization crept over her. “You had something to do with that. You… you wanted the Rebels to get those plans. You knew about the flaw in the Death Star.”

“I could have easily destroyed the Rebel flagship over Scarif and the plans with it. Instead, I employed the ruse of a boarding party to give Princess Organa’s crew the few seconds they needed to escape.” He lingered on the thought of slaying thirteen Rebels in less than a standard minute. “I rather enjoyed myself. It had been awhile.” 

“But why?” she asked. ”Why did you want it destroyed?”

“Tarkin had been conspiring with the other Moffs to commandeer the Death Star and overthrow the Emperor themselves. Which, needless to say, would have affected my plans considerably.” Lylla gripped the bedsheets, reeling from this new information-- information certainly not included in the personal logs that she would hack after leaving the Grand Moff spent and sleeping after their trysts. He continued. “You extracted the location of the Rebel base from the Princess’s guard, leading us to Yavin. With the Death Star at Yavin and the Rebels armed with the plans, it would simply seem as though they had destroyed each other. The Moffs would be dead, the Rebellion would be annihilated, the Death Star gone, and the ensuing chaos would clear the way for me to kill my Master and take the Empire.” 

“Gods and hells,” she breathed with a small incredulous laugh, “you were going to blow it up yourself.”

“Once I eliminated the last Rebel pilot in the trench, there would be no witnesses. The Death Star would destroy Yavin IV, and I would destroy the Death Star.” The acid in his voice burned through his vocoder. “I did not expect being shot down by an errant pirate nor on the pilot being as Force-strong as he was. And the three months I was stranded on Vaal gave the Emperor ample time to reassemble and reorganize the Imperial government .”

Lylla exhaled, her mind racing to process it all. “Why didn’t you just take the Death Star for yourself? Like Tarkin planned to?”

“Because I didn’t want it. It caused many more problems than it was worth; namely Jehda, Scarif, and Alderaan. Tarkin was only the first to attempt a coup, there would no doubt be others. It would have torn the Empire apart from the inside. Factions would break off the military and mutinies would rise up within it, all fighting amongst themselves for the power it would bring them. It would be an entirely new Civil War. Resources, manpower, billions of hours of labor… all wasted even before it exploded. It was a financial and logistical monstrosity, and it had no place in my Empire.”

 _His Empire._ Lylla’s lip twitched as her gut went hollow. “He’s building another one,” she muttered.

Vader’s mask snapped in her direction. “How do you know that?” he demanded.

“I interrogated one of the architects of the Wookie slave revolt. Two thousand slaves enroute to a ‘classified labor destination’? I did the math, my Lord.” She looked up at him. “So what about that one?”

“If all goes accordingly, it will never be finished.”

“Accordingly? Like it did on Yavin IV?”

Vader caught the ice in her tone. He chose to ignore it: Despite her best effort, her cold demeanor did nothing to contain the shock, dread, amazement and adrenaline that raged through the Dark Side like a chained dragon. “Precisely. That is why I need you.”

Lylla straightened up, took a deep breath to ease the tension knotting her insides. “I’m listening.”

He turned to fully face her. “The setback at Yavin forces me to readjust my plans. This evening provided me with a new tactic. I have something I did not before, something that could prove vital to success.”

“And that is?”

“A woman.” He stepped toward her. “A face, a feminine element. It is apparent that you can gather information and manipulate situations in ways that I cannot. To have a devoted mistress who can beguile the galactic media, one who can infiltrate Imperial functions and report any information regarding the Emperor and the Rebellion, will be a valuable asset. The title of Baroness will ensure your access.”

Lylla slowly rose to her feet. She came to him, and grasped the front of his robes. It took many moments for her to find her voice, but when she did, it was sultry with venom. “An asset? That is all? An _asset_?”

“Lylla,” he growled with heavy warning.

“A face? Is that what I am? Just another component in your plan--”

Vader gripped her arms and pulled her into him. “Is it NOT enough that I have shown you generosity that I have NEVER shown anyone before? Am I not trusting you with my plans? And yet you continue to question me, to goad me, to interrogate me!” 

“You put me through the nine hells tonight!” Lylla spat back. “All just to test me! For what, Vader? Why?” She pulled herself up into his mask. “What happens to me when you have your Empire, my Lord? When you no longer need my face? Where will my place be?!”

“At my side, you impudent girl!” he thundered. 

All the air blew out of Lylla’s lungs as her eyes bulged and her legs gave out from under her. Vader tightened his grip on her and his voice dropped to a fierce murmur. “Do you think I chose you simply to be my whore? There is no shortage of women who could easily fill that role, be they willing or not. You have no grasp of your potential, of the power you carry!” 

In the distance of her mind, she heard them again, their hymns whispering down her spine. “What… what do you mean, ‘power’? I don’t understand--”

He threaded his gloved fingers into her hair and held her in his eyes. “When you touch the Force through me Lylla, what do you see?”

Her eyes flickered, and she knit her brow. “You know what I see, you see them too--”

“Them?” he asked. “Who?”

“The angels,” she answered. Vader pulled back and tensed. “You… you see them, don’t you? You hear them?”

“No, Lylla,” he said. “I do not.” When Vader touched the Dark Side, he was met with the howls of a thousand black holes and the screams of uncountable souls who had served it and paid for their devotion by being trapped in its eternal maelstrom-- such was the price for its limitless power. He certainly never saw angels. “You must come with me,” he rasped with urgency. ‘You cannot stay on the Throneworld. I cannot leave you here alone with the Emperor.” 

“Please, my Lord,” she whispered, wincing at his vice-like hold on her arms, “tell me what’s going on.”

He paused, then slowly loosened his grip. “Your appearance,” he began, “changed drastically when you first touched the Dark Side, and your hair grows at an impossible rate. You have survived circumstances that most would never have. You have an almost inhuman capacity for learning and processing information. You cannot use the Force, but it surrounds you, envelops you, feeds off you. The Dark Side...is inside of you.” Her mouth hung open, her eyes darting in stunned bewilderment. He ran a hand down her body until he grasped the soft curve of her buttock, and his voice grew soft and hoarse. “You are infinitely rare, Sithae eusss’na Sa’thraxxx. I believe you were sent to me, and you are mine.” He nestled the hollow of her throat into the crook of his other hand. “ _Mine_.”

The angels had silenced, but were replaced with a vibration all around her that she could only describe as a purr. She took a breath as if to speak, to ask the thousand questions racing through her head… until her mind unfolded like dark wings that spread across the scarlet skies of her consciousness. It was as though she had been asleep for decades, and was now finally awakened. The questions didn’t matter. He was right. She _was_ sent to him. 

She looked at the ground, shaking her head. “I must have held a razor to my wrists a dozen times in my life…”

“Seventeen, to be exact,” Vader said.

Lylla glanced back up at him, a sad smirk on her lips. So, he had seen those memories too. “There were so many times I wanted to die. But I had to keep going, keep surviving, it wasn’t because I wanted to, it was...a compulsion.” Her voice was like tempered steel. “I killed Malifino, just to keep living. I never knew why. Now I know. It was for you. It was always for you.” Her white eyes glistened. “You are my destiny.” 

She felt something in Vader’s hold on her, a small movement in his arms, like he was about to pull her into an embrace… until he stiffened. Instead, he traced his fingers down her throat. “I will teach you, Lylla,” he murmured. His hands continued down until he found her breasts. Despite his immense strength, he fondled them with just a whisper of a caress. “You will know the rapture of dominion, the power over life and death,” he dropped his voice impossibly lower, “and the ecstasy of hearing your name spoken in _fear_.” 

His words, his voice, his touch electrified her flesh and surged straight to her core. She shivered under his hands, and her cunt practically dripped. Lylla briefly thought of Xizor, thought of his practiced lines and his offers of dresses and jewelry and sex, and she almost laughed. _You pitiful fool_ , she thought. _THIS is seduction._

Vader pulled back to rake his eyes down her long, pale body. She was undeniably ravishing at the ball, but the way she was now, nude in his hands, her face scrubbed and fresh, set his loins to burn. Despite the gale of emotions rushing from her through the Force, her expression was soft, and adoration glowed in her white eyes as she looked up at him. Something stirred within him, something other than arousal, like it had on the Death Star when he sensed their kindred darkness for the first time. He silently cursed his mask, craving to take her mouth and taste her flesh, to annihilate the image of that depraved Falleen criminal pawing at her. “I did not like Xizor’s hands on you,” he snarled. “I wanted to kill him there and then. He now knows the feel your skin under his touch.” He flexed his cybernetic hand. “And I never will.”

Lylla let out an anguished breath, as she had never even considered that. She framed his mask with her hands. “Let me kill him. I’ll lure him, and then I’ll kill him. Please. For you.”

“Not before we set Black Sun to ruin.” The murder in her eyes made his cock strain even more against his suit. His thumbs brushed over her engorged dawn-hued nipples, eliciting a shudder and moan. “There is no satisfaction in killing him before he watches his empire crumble. I have other concerns that require my immediate attention. But do not doubt, we will destroy him.”

She smiled. “We?”

“We.” Vader's hands traveled down from her breasts to grasp her beautiful bare ass. “That is, of course… if you are coming with me. You haven’t given me your answer yet.”

His teasing tone was disarming, causing Lylla's smile to widen. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and nuzzled her cheek on his chest above his breastplate. “There was never any choice,” she said. “I will follow you until the stars burn cold. You know that.”

Vader raised his hands to cup her face and lift her eyes to his. “I do,” he murmured. “Now.”

Lylla could not see his face of course, nor could she read him through the Force like he could her. But the gentleness of his touch as he brushed her hair back from her temple, and the way he gazed down at her, his helmet tipped ever so slightly to the side, told her that the tests and trials were over. They had turned the corner-- she now had his trust, and he now knew she would never leave or betray him. For a moment, she allowed herself the indulgence of believing that he truly cared for her. 

She touched his mask, caressing it as though it wasn’t there. “I want to kiss you.”

His voice was hoarse with frustration and lust. “I can’t take this mask off here.”

The lift of her eyebrow matched the curve of her smirk. “I didn’t necessarily mean your lips.”

Lylla felt the Dark Lord’s rough growl all the way down into her belly. “Wicked girl.” He ran his hands to her shoulders and pushed her down. She slid down his front until she was on her knees. She undid the fasteners of his codpiece, slowly, teasingly, never taking her eyes from his. Peeling it away, she nuzzled against his growing erection, reveling in the scent of leather and his maleness. She teased the underside of his cock with her tongue before capturing the head with her lips. Her mouth was so warm, her tongue soft and slippery as she swirled it around his shaft. Curling her hands around him, she moved them up and down in perfect sync with her mouth, taking him deeper down her throat with every suck.

He attempted to crane his head back to thoroughly enjoy the sensation, but his helm and gorget limited his movement. He threaded his fingers into her hair as he had done many times but, as always, found the gesture clumsy through his leather gloves. He longed to know how her hair felt, those strands of scarlet and ebon silk, under his touch. Despite the licentious tension building in his loins, his thoughts again drifted to Xizor. The way he ran his perfect hands over his woman’s skin, the way he moved his body, free from scars and agony and limits, and how he took it all for granted…

Vader reached down and grasped Lylla’s arms, gently yet firmly pulling her back up. She looked at him, her head cocked and her brows knit, confused as to why he stopped her: Was she not pleasuring him to his liking? But when he moved his hands to her thighs and hoisted her off the floor, forcing her legs around his waist, her concern disappeared with a lascivious laugh. She wrapped an arm around his neck and clamped her legs around him while her other hand stroked his cock to his full hardness. He purred like a beast of prey and effortlessly shifted her body upwards until her drenched slit just kissed the head of his shaft. 

Embracing his neck and setting her forehead on the widow’s peak of his mask, she lowered herself onto his cock, taking him deeper with every delicious pump of her hips. She was beautiful--her white eyes flooded his lenses, her breaths were quick and rough, her heart a primal drumbeat through his audial sensors. He clutched her hips and plunged her down, sheathing into her to his hilt. Lylla whimpered, but never took her eyes off his. Turning around, the Sith carried her the few steps to the glassine windows where he pinned her against them.

He stroked into her long, slow, and fiercely. She grunted when he found the delicate ridge of ecstasy buried deep inside of her. He slid his hand up her neck and into her hair, holding her captive in his eyes. It was then Lylla realized they had never fucked outside of his hyperbaric environments. His massive leather-clad body crushed her against the window, the controls of his breast panel dug into her flesh. His mask engulfed her vision, his breather roared in her ears, his impossible girth stretched her walls wide, again and again. She looked into his opaque lenses and saw the faint smolder of his eyes, narrowed and ravenous, the colors of blood and fire, the Mark of the Sith. Any other woman would have been terrified. For Lylla, it was beyond rapture itself.

The feel of her clamped around him, fiery and rigid and slick, burned through him. He clenched his arm around her lithe body and pulled her tighter against him. Despite earlier frustration about taking her in his full armor, Vader found it actually enhanced him rather than impeded him-- its systems fed his strength and stamina, as they did in combat. Huge and hard inside of her, he quickened his thrusts, deepened them, pounding her against the glassine. “Mine,” he growled, his vocoder vibrating through her entire body. He leaned into her ear and whispered, “My Sa’thraxxx, my dark angel.”

A sob escaped Lylla’s throat, and tears streamed down her cheeks. She held him even tighter, submitting to his fervent drives, her groans escalating into howling cries. She bucked into him, the strain building and pulsing in her belly, her body reaching, reaching, his cock battering into her, filling her to her limit...until she detonated. Juices exploded from deep inside of her and drenched his leather-clad thighs. The scream that escaped her was primal and brutal and not entirely human.

But she didn't come down from her orgasm: In fact, the power continued to surge from her core, like a black inferno engulfing her spine. Her eyes rolled back into her head: A hole had been punched through reality itself, like she possessed the knowledge of every dimensional realm in the megaverse, but just couldn’t remember it. She knew then, down to her bones, that this warrior mage, this manifestation of machine, man, and magic, was the entire reason she was born. He was right, she _did_ belong to him, everything she was belonged to him. Not as property, but as an acolyte, a disciple, a kindred soul born of the dark. Lylla had had owners her entire life, but only Vader was the one she could ever truly call her Master.

And she loved him, oh, how she loved him. She loved his passion, his brilliance, and even his cruelty, as black and brutal as her own. She would take it from him, for him. She would kill for him. She would die for him. She would crawl under his scarred flesh to feel his pain with him. She would take it into herself and rebirth it as righteous vengeance against that withered charlatan who had kept him imprisoned in his armor and his agony for all these years, the Emperor. 

And the hymns of night bled into her veins...

Vader sensed the shift in Lylla’s consciousness. The Dark Side of the Force howled around her as she arched against the glassine, her mouth dropped open in a silent scream, and her eyes transfixed to the sky. He thrusted into her again, as deep and hard as he could go. “Tell me what you see,” he hissed.

Lylla clenched around his cock like a vice. She bent her head back down to face him, her black pupils dilated completely across her white eyes, and whispered, “Through victory, my chains are broken.”

Vader froze, adrenaline surging through him. She had just spoken from the Code of the Sith: There was no possible way she could have known that. “The Force will set me free,” he answered, completing the stanza. Using his body to hold her against the window, Vader freed his hands to cup her face. “Show me.” Lylla, her eyes still black as a Dathomir night, returned the gesture, taking his mask into her hands, bending her head down, and pressing her lips against the grid of his breather in a kiss…

Vader was pulled out of his body as she inhaled him into her mind, just as he had done to her. Again, as it always did, the Dark Side swirled and roared around him, the shrieks of the tormented shredding his ears. But then, he felt the sensation of being pulled away, led out of the tempest of dark energy, upwards. Lylla was still wrapped around him, he still inside of her. Behind her, the black frenzy evaporated into a blood red sky. His feet landed and stood firm on soft black earth. She was warm and supple in his arms, her skin so soft…her skin…

He could feel her skin. 

Lylla’s mouth devoured his, her lips ravenous, her tongue demanding as she ran her hands through his hair...She broke the kiss, leaned back to look at him, and slowly, wickedly smiled. He saw his reflection in her black eyes. 

His mask was gone, his armor was gone. He saw his face. Not like it was now. Not even like it was before Mustafar, but as he would look as if Mustafar had never happened. Older, yes, his features more chiseled, more defined, with faint lines around his eyes and a dusting of stubble on his chin and jaw. He had his hair back, blond and thick, but cut shorter and cleaner, more fitting for a man in his forties, with just a frost of gray around his temples. 

He pulled out of her, and slowly lowered her to the black ground. She stepped back, allowing Vader to look down at his naked self. No scars, no burns, no prosthetics, no tubes. Even in the dim light of wherever they were, he saw that his skin, flawless and smooth and was once again tan, kissed by the rays of twin desert suns. His physique was broader than from his youth, harder and more hewn, like the result of twenty years of hard relentless training. But most of all, there was no pain, none of the agony that had become his existence every waking hour for the last twenty years. He was...beautiful.

He lifted his hands to his face. Slowly, he clenched and relaxed his fists, wearing an expression of unabashed ecstasy. "I remember now," he said, "the strength…the ease…" Even his voice was changed, full and clear, but deeper than from his youth. His elation dimmed, however, when he realized he wasn’t the one creating this through the Force. He looked at the scarlet-haired woman in front of him. “How are you doing this, Lylla?”

Lylla set her hands on his hard bare chest, and tilted her head to the side. But when she spoke, the voice that came out was not hers, but many voices, deeper than even his vocoder could create. “She isn’t. We are.” They laughed lightly when Vader stiffened and pulled back, and Lylla slid her hands to his face to hold him there. “A gift,” the voices murmured through her, “for you. Enjoy her. Use her well.” She wrapped her hands around his neck, pulled herself up to his lips, and the voices whispered, “Chosen One...”

Before he could react to that wretched title forced on him all those years ago, Lylla suddenly gasped, shrieked, and fell to her knees, grasping her head. Vader dropped to his knees and gripped her shoulders. “Lylla?”

“Vader,” she breathed, “did you see the angels?” She looked up, shook herself alert. He watched the black recede back into her pupils. “Did you hear them?”

Lylla, of course, would mistake what she saw and heard for angels, for she had no knowledge of Sith lore whatsoever. But these voices that came out of her did not belong to any angels. A small smile spread his lips: She didn’t even know that she was part of that lore herself. The name he had chosen for her was just proven true. “Yes,” he answered softly, “I heard them.” 

That’s when she really looked at him, and yelped, “Vader! You, you’re…this is you?”

His smile grew. “Yes, it’s me. A gift from your ‘angels’, Lylla.” Before she could ask the scores of questions he knew were racing through her mind, he tangled his hands into her hair and pulled her to him, taking her lips in a violent kiss. 

His touch-starved hands roamed over her body, needful and rapacious, as he captured her tongue with his own. He could truly taste her for the first time, and her mouth was as sweet as he had imagined. The softness of her hair was beyond intoxicating, and her scent was clean like the air on Tatooine after a decades-late rainstorm. He broke the kiss to latch onto her throat, kissing and nipping, traveling up to her ear. “Your skin feels just as I thought it would,” he whispered, “like satin under my hands.”

“Vader,” she moaned, writhing against him. She explored him as well, her hands unbridled and hungry, feeling every part of his perfect back, his neck and his arms, combing her slender fingers through his thick golden hair. The feel of his hard body against hers alone almost sent her over the edge. He smelled of sky and desert wind. 

He pulled her down with him, onto the black ground under the crimson sky. Much to both their surprise, it was soft, pliable, and cool underneath them, not like earth at all. She sucked a fevered gasp when he slid his hand down her belly to her wet sex, where he slipped two fingers inside. He rolled her onto her back, pressing her under his weigh, while he indulged himself in stroking her slick folds, finally able to feel the wet velvet smoothness and her hard little clit with his own fingers, and enjoyed her zealous response. She opened her legs wider, silently begging for more. A wicked grin spread his lips. He intended to take full advantage of his perfect whole unscarred body, however long it was to last. 

He fiercely took her mouth again. She wrapped her arm around his neck and returned the kiss with wild abandon while running her hand up and down his back in fitful, needy patterns. She growled into his mouth when she caressed the curve of his muscled buttock. He in turn moved on top of her and rubbed his iron-hard cock on her thigh. She whimpered, pleading, desperate for it to be inside her. But he broke the kiss and ran his tongue along her bottom lip. “You are a greedy girl. You didn’t think you could tempt me that easily, did you?” 

She bared her teeth in a smile. “Yes. I did, actually.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Brash, too. Very well, your education starts now. You obviously need to be taught a lesson.” His blue eyes sparked gold and red.

Lylla’s eyes widened. Despite this masculine beauty, he was still the Dark Lord of the Sith, still her Master. Her breaths quickened with anticipation and apprehension. What was he going to--

He slid the nipple between his fingers and squeezed, and groaned as she arched and gasped under his hand. He rolled the nub gently at first before capturing it in a pinch. Lylla inhaled sharply, then winced as he pinched harder. "Hurts?" he asked. "No," she lied. She cried out when he squeezed even more. "Now?" She opened her eyes and slowly grinned, meeting his in challenge. He laughed softly. "We shall see then how much you can take." Between his thumb and forefinger, he clamped her delicate nipple mercilessly, and his grin grew as she squirmed until she finally begged him to stop. He replaced his fingers with his mouth, lathing his tongue, hot and wet, over the throbbing bud. Lylla arced up and whimpered as the switch from pain to bliss set her flesh aflame. 

He slipped a finger into her slit, then two, then a third, moving them slowly in and out. Lylla tilted her hips up to meet his fingers' thrusts. Her juices slicked his fingers, allowing them deeper. "Still greedy," he hissed in her ear. Abruptly, he pulled his fingers out. Lylla gasped in protest—until she saw him raise them to his lips. He traced his tongue up his fingers before taking them into his mouth. He pulled them out slowly, savoring the burning honey on his tongue. When he finished, he smiled, baring his teeth. "And so sweet." 

Lylla panted, trembling and frustrated. “Have I learned yet?”

Vader laughed, a devilishly spirited chuckle Lylla had never heard come out of him before. A sudden sadness gripped her. Was this the way he was before the armor, before Mustafar, before that Jedi bastard maimed him physically and mentally? Was this the way he was with... _her_? The little bitch who led him into that trap?

She clenched her eyes shut as she forced the hatred back down. The smile faded from Vader’s face when he felt the change in her. “Where are you?”

Lylla opened her eyes, looked into his, and donned her most seductive smile. “Here. I’m here.”

Vader narrowed his eyes, having picked up her hatred but not the reason for it. But then the wicked smile returned. “The lesson isn’t over. Pay attention.” He leaned down and took her breast into his mouth again, pulling her engorged nipple with his teeth, and Lylla’s bitter moment instantly vanished. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her body to his mouth. He was like a man starved, feasting on her neck, her breasts, her stomach, savoring every inch of his journey downward with his lips, tongue, and teeth. When he reached her mound, he spread her thighs apart and dipped between them. 

He leaned in and inhaled her deeply, then slid the tip of his tongue into the groove below her swollen clit. Lylla shuddered and let out a guttural moan. His fingers soon followed, teasing her before sliding deep. He suckled the glistening pearl as he began to slowly pump his fingers in and out. She feverishly ran her hands over her breasts, her stomach and through his hair, her hips grinding into his mouth, her moans becoming high pitched staccato cries…until he pulled away...and laughed. 

Lylla hit the earth under her with her fists and growled in frustration. She lifted her head and scowled at him between her legs, which made him chuckle even more. “Enjoying your lesson?” he practically purred. Before she could answer, he took her cunt into his mouth once again and thrust his fingers inside of her.

He tortured her like this for what seemed to be eternity, bringing her closer and closer to rapture, then pulling away, then starting again. Tears soon flowed from Lylla's eyes, and her whole body quaked. After enduring all she could, she wailed, “I can’t… I can’t take anymore...please my Lord, please, please...PLEASE…”

Vader surged up from between her legs over her, setting his hands on either side of her shoulders and his knee between her legs, his eyes aflame with the Dark Side as he stared down at her. “Please what, Lylla?” He pressed down lower. “Say it.”

“Fuck me. Please,” she whined.

Again, that wonderfully sadistic chuckle. “And how shall I fuck you?”

She blinked several times, never having heard him use such vulgarity before, and Vader thoroughly enjoyed this practiced seductress’s loss for words. But soon, that soul-eating smile of hers, the one that he felt straight down to his balls, returned. “Like...how did you phrase it...‘a bitch in heat’?”

He needed no further encouragement. In one impossible move of strength and grace, Vader thrust an arm under her back, flipped her over onto her front, gripped her hips and pulled her up onto her knees. He fisted her hair with one hand and pushed her onto her elbows while lining his shaft to her sex with the other. Pressing into her, her walls opened for him, and with one thrust he hilted into her. Her groans and grunts were sweet in his ears. Leaning over her back, he wrapped an arm around her and clutched her breast. “You are a wanton slut, aren’t you?” he whispered in her ear as he moved into her, his rhythm slow and deep.

Xizor called her that as an insult. But only her Dark Lord could make it an endearment. Lylla tried to form a “yes”, but could only moan her response. Force, he felt incredible inside of her, so hard, thick and long, his breath hot and rough on her neck, his hands groping her breasts and rump. “Gods…,” she moaned, pushing herself back into him, taking him into her even more, “Vader...please...please…”

Vader had no intention of allowing her any respite, and her grunts only fed his lust. Whatever gentleness he had shown her vanished. Rising back onto his knees, he raised his hand and without restraint, brought his palm down full force on her ass. The CRACK that resounded was only rivaled by the brutal scream that exploded from Lylla's throat. Agonizing pleasure crashed through her again as tears burst from her eyes.

He fucked her furiously, cruelly. The pleasure that throbbed through this perfect body, free of pain, the tightness of her, her complete submission to him made him intoxicated, savage. He dug his fingers into the sweet flesh of her ass, and reveled in her cries for mercy. Bending over her once again, he wrapped his hand around her throat and squeezed. Lylla gasped and clutched his hand, but instead of trying to pull it away, she tightened her own hand around his. His response was to fall on her back, pinning her beneath him.

A strangled sob lurched from her throat as she felt the first twinge of her orgasm grip his cock inside of her. She fought it, tried to keep it down, wanting to make this sweet torture last forever—but she couldn't take in enough breath to calm her body. Tears streaked her cheeks, she felt them drip off her face. That tiny sensation alone was enough to push her to the edge…

And his hand on her throat snapped open.

The flood of air she sucked into her lungs collided with the maelstrom seizing her body, and it crashed like thunder through every fiber of muscle and bone. Her lungs burned and her throat throbbed, but the waves kept coming, coming, again and again.

Vader rose up onto his knees again, continuing to hammer into her until the storm overtook him as well. He threw his head back and roared into the skies above them, his nails digging into her buttocks. He gasped at the feel of his seed surging through his loins as it exploded into her. His body thrusted once more, then again, until he had nothing more, and collapsed on top of her.

They lay there, sweat-soaked, panting. Vader threaded his fingers through her slicked hair and nuzzled her neck. "The lesson," he whispered through ragged breaths, "is ended."

Lylla began to cry. She couldn’t stop herself, It was just what her heart wanted, her love for him overwhelming her reason and body. Vader slipped an arm around her and rolled onto his back, pulling her close to him. She still shook all over, unable to stop. "Sssshhhh," he soothed, combing a finger through a bleak streak in her hair. "You are now the consort of a Sith Lord. I would not have you forged in the fires of Mustafar, as I was. I would not have this perfect flesh,” he ran a finger down her glistening body, “marred in such a way. But forge you I will Lylla, if not through fire, then through pleasure. You have done well, my girl." He leaned in, and delicately licked the tears from her cheeks, savoring the warm salt on his tongue before caressing her cheek with his own. "You know I only push you because I—" His words abruptly stopped, and hung in the air.

Lylla held her breath before she dared ask, "Because you what?" She felt the languid smile melt against her ear and, when she turned to face him, his brilliant blue eyes had morphed back into points of blood and fire. His face was dark and angry, but she had the feeling that his anger wasn't targeted at her, but at himself.

He lurched off her onto his feet, turning and storming a few paces away. Lylla slowly sat up and stared after him, her bliss evaporating: the cold Dark Lord of the Sith had returned. He looked up into the red skies and quietly said, “Your gift has been accepted. Now take us back.”

And in her head, the angels responded, _***As you wish, Chosen One.***_

She was sucked into the vortex of the black paroxysm of the Dark Side. She was slammed back into her body and, when she sucked a harsh breath into her lungs, she realized that she once against felt smooth cold glassine against her back. She heard Vader’s respirator before she opened her eyes and saw his stark, impervious mask once again. Her inner thighs cramped, her legs still wrapped around him, his armored body still had her pinned to the door. They hadn't moved an inch.

They said nothing. Eventually, Vader slid out of her sex. Before her feet touched the floor, he slipped an arm under her knees and carried her to her bed. He set a knee into the mattress and laid her down, pulling the black silk sheet over her. 

Lylla looked up at him, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence. “When do we leave for the _Executor_?”

“I leave in the morning,” he answered.

She grimaced a bit. “And I leave?”

“Two weeks from now.”

“You tell me this _now_?” she asked sharply.

“Yes,” he answered flatly.

Anxiety clutched her gut. “You’re leaving me alone for two weeks?”

“Lylla,” Vader murmured, “My full attention must be focused on the _Executor_. You, my girl,” he unexpectedly tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, “are far too great a distraction.”

She sighed, and smiled a bit until a new worry crossed her mind. “What about Xizor--”

“Do not worry about the Falleen. He has already been dealt with.”

“And the Emperor?”

He almost sounded amused. “Will be onboard with me overseeing the progress.”

She exhaled again and closed her eyes, relieved. “Oh. I understand now.” She opened them again and gazed up at him. “Forgive me, my Lord, for questioning you.”

He touched her face and ran his thumb over her full lips, then rose to his feet and adjusted himself back into his codpiece. “I will be leaving a squad of troopers to guard you. I have also assigned Wrenga Jixton to be your personal bodyguard.” He noted her frown, as she was still obviously angry with the Correllian. “Besides the bounty hunter Boba Fett, Jixton is my most trusted agent. And trust me, despite your first impression of him, he is far easier to deal with than Fett.” He walked around the bed toward the door. “Be ready for reporters in the morning. Your task of engaging the media starts tomorrow.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Remember what I told you, everything you say is a reflection of me.” He stopped and turned to her, and added softly, “I trust you.”

Lylla took a deep breath, and smiled. “Thank you, my Lord.” But when he turned again to leave, her white eyes dimmed, and she dared to ask after him, “You’ll never say it, will you?”

He stopped again, his back to her. “Say what?” 

“You’ll never tell me that you love me.”

Vader stood silent for many moments. Lylla swallowed hard, waiting. Finally, he spoke. “When I was on Fellenet, I tracked your father down.” 

If she had been standing, she might have collapsed. Lylla’s jaw fell to her lap as she sprang up, her hands clutching the sheets in utter shock. “What?” She let out an incredulous gale of breath. “Gods and hells, he’s still alive!?”

He paused. “No." And swept out of her bedchamber.

She sat in her bed, still and quiet. And then, her racing mind slowed when it hit her. He had hunted down her father, the man who sold her into sexual slavery, and killed him.

Darth Vader just told her that he loved her.

* * *

The human male's sympathetic smile, though genuine, did nothing to cover the terror in his eyes. "And so, Ingor Riann, farewell. You will be sorely missed here at the Society channel." He glanced at his lovely green-skinned Twi'leki co-anchor, who simpered and sighed accordingly, before going on the next story.

"Well, we finally come to our lead story, highlights from the Coronation Ball! Isn't that right, Brick?"

"That's right, Channa! And what a ball it was! The lights, the music, the gowns and the jewels! But it seems the REAL story wasn't broadcast live, now was it, Channa?"

"Oh no, Brick, it sure wasn't. But thanks to an anonymous source, we have footage of that story right now!" She turned to the second camera, and in the corner of the holoscreen, Lylla's picture emerged. "Well, the rumors have been proven true, and the galaxy had the pleasure and privilege to feast their eyes on Lord Vader's new consort."

"And what a lovely companion she is, right Channa?"

"That she is, Brick! But it seems that Madame Lylla Sa'thraxxx has more to offer Lord Vader than just beauty! Take a look at this clip provided by our anonymous source." The picture changed on the screen, as the Twi'leki continued. "Although that is a beautiful garden, it seems the Madame Lylla is the loveliest flower of all, right Brick?"

"That's right Channa! But who is that with her?"

"Brick, that is none other than the Duke of Decadence himself, Prince Xizor! And from what we see here, he's up to his old tricks again!"

"Indeed, Channa! But wait—it seems our newest lady of the hour isn't exactly falling for his charm, is she?"

"You can say that again, Brick! Because…oh, wait, here it comes…OHHH!"

"OHHH! Channa, did she just slap his face?"

"That she did, Brick! Let's watch that again."

SLAP!

"Ooo, ouch! Channa, I just gotta see that one more time!"

SLAP!

"It seems you’re not the only one, Brick—our board is on fire with requests to see that again…"

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP….

In his skyhook palace, Prince Xizor sat stiff and upright on his overstuffed divan, surrounded by his bevy of beauties, and watched the footage repeated over and over. Although he remained cool and composed on the outside, his women yelped and scattered in all directions when the glass in his hand shattered from the force of his enraged grip.

* * *

In the upper levels of the Imperial hive-city, the anonymous source himself, Wrenga Jixton, sat on his own couch in front of the holoscreen, a bowl of hot pop-kernels in his lap. With his feet propped up and ankles crossed on his caf table, he was admiring the tiny camera that he had had installed in his custom-made comlink before turning his attention back to the screen.

"Ooo, ouch! Channa, I just gotta see that one more time!"

SLAP!

With a grin that threatened to pull out all the muscles in his entire face, Jix giggled, “I love my job,” and tossed a piece of pop-kernel in the air and deftly caught it in his mouth. 

Just then, the comlink buzzed. Jix answered it. “Jixton.”

“Master Jixton,” said the young, breathy voice of Palissa, Lylla’s servant, “we’re ready to leave.”

“On my way.” He switched the comlink off, stood up from the couch, popped one more pop-kernel into his mouth and said, “Let the games begin.”

* * *

“THERE SHE IS!”

The scores of reporters and their news-droids all snapped around in the direction of the glossy black armored speeder transport arriving at the port of Imperial Security Bureau Headquarters. Like a herd of rabid Bantha during rutting season, they rushed to the edge of the port platform as the speeder pulled up. Several stormtroopers on speeder cycles dismounted and penetrated the crowd, pushing reporters back with the butts of their blasters as the speeder doors opened.

Palissa was the first to exit, dressed in a simple streamlined jacket and trousers tucked into high black boots, her golden curls pinned up into a hat reminiscent of an Imperial officer’s cap. She stepped to the side of the door to make way for her mistress. 

When Lylla emerged from the speeder, the media vultures went berserk. News-droids targeted their lights at her, holocam-drones buzzed all around her and the speeder, and the reporters themselves risked injury by brazenly pushing back against the stormtroopers. Many turned to their cam-drones and began reporting to their various planetary news agencies.

“We are here at ISB Headquarters--”

“Madame Sa’thraxxx has just arrived--”

“Liconee Agitar for Throneworld Fashion News! Lord Vader’s new consort is definitely the fashion plate she showed us to be at the Imperial Ball last night…”

Lylla straightened herself up to her full height, allowing everyone a full view of the black and scarlet brocade double-breasted floor-length jacket she wore, cuffed and collared with black fur, and the small tricorn hat neatly set in her exquisitely coiffed hair. She took a moment to make eye contact with every cam-drone hovering around her before she began to stride the path cleared by the troopers to the buildings stairs. 

She tuned in some of the questions out of the cacophony of voices--

“Madame Sa’thraxxx, did you see this morning’s broadcast on the Society Channel?”

“I did,” she answered, never looking the reporter’s direction.

They became even more excited by hearing her low sultry voice for the first time. “Madame, why did you slap Prince Xizor?”

“Because he deserved it.”

“Did he insult you?”

Lylla stopped, and acknowledged the reporters for the first time. “Of course he insulted me. But that was hardly the reason I struck him. I’m a big girl, I can handle nasty remarks from a jilted pursuer.”

“Then why did you hit him--”

“Because he insulted Lord Vader. Called him, and I quote, ‘a shambling mound of wires and bolts’.” A collective gasp went through the throng, and she added, “Anyone can say anything about me, but no one-- and I mean NO ONE-- insults the man I love.” She turned to commence walking up the stairs, Palissa close behind, and the horde once again erupted with questions.

“Does that mean you are actually in love with Lord Vader?”

“Is there marriage in your future, Madame?”

“Has he asked you yet, Madame Sa’thraxxx?”

“Madame Sa’thraxxx, is it true you were a pleasure slave?”

Everything stopped. Lylla froze in her tracks. The reporters fell silent, and turned their heads to gawk the person who asked it, with many wondering how the hell he got that scoop. Adrenaline exploded through her body, her breathing quickened, and her mind raced: If it was Xizor who had leaked that, he would have certainly used it against her last night during their altercation. But he didn’t. Which led her to the next culprit--

“Palpatine,” she spat through clenched teeth.

Palissa whipped around to the crowd, her grey eyes piercing like polished durasteel. “How dare you pose such a question to Lord Vader’s consort--”

“I’ll answer it,” Lylla stated in a resounding voice. Slowly, she turned to the murmuring crowd. “Who asked that?”

A man, with the brown hair and hazel eyes typical of most Correllians, pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “Ilis Trant, News of Corellian, Madame Sa’thraxxx.” His cocksure smile spread across his face. “And if so, did Lord Vader _buy_ you?”

Lylla stood for a moment, her face still and unreadable, until she casually came back down the stairs. She came upon Trant and and planted herself before him. Trant actually had to look up at her, and seemed to shrink a tad when he realized that she was almost a full head taller than he was. She was calm, but the way she glared down her long aquiline nose at him, and her frigidly poised demeanor reminded them all of the Dark Lord’s uncanny ability to subdue a crowd with just one expressionless look. 

“Yes, it is true,” she declared in a clear voice, never averting her glacial glare. “I was born on Fellenet to a prostitute who died while having me. My father was a drug-addicted pimp and slave trader who sold me when I was eleven years old.” Lylla turned to the aghast crowd of reporters, who all gasped and furiously typed into their datapads. She shrugged. “I have nothing to hide from the fine populace of the glorious Empire. Indeed, I am, truly, one of you. But to answer your second question,” she said, turning her narrowed white eyes back to Trant, “no, Lord Vader did not buy me.” She pulled herself even taller, and folded her gloved hands in front of her diaphragm in a wholly royal fashion. “He _freed me_. He lifted me from bondage, he granted me full Imperial citizenship, because...he saw something in me. He saw potential, and he recognized my fierce loyalty to Emperor Palpatine and the Galactic Empire.” Lylla sighed, and she softened her expression. With a beautifully executed crack in her voice, she murmured, “He saved my life. He freed me and sent me off the Death Star before it was tragically destroyed by those heartless, soulless terrorists who call themselves the Rebel Alliance…” She blinked several times, as if fighting back tears. “How could I not fall in love with him?” She looked to the rest of the crowd. “And if Lord Vader could lift me, a lowly pleasure slave, from bondage, I believe he could do the same for millions-- even billions more-- across the galaxy.” With that, Lylla turned again to walk up the stairs. 

And the horde went wild--

“Madame Sa’thraxxx, are you saying Lord Vader would abolish slavery throughout the galaxy??”

“Madame, is Lord Vader making a play for the throne?”

Lylla laughed as she continued climbing the stairs. “Don’t be absurd, my Lord’s loyalty to our illustrious Emperor is unwavering and true. As is mine.”

“Madame, how do you like your new moniker?”

Again she stopped and turned, lifting an eyebrow. “What moniker is that?”

Fashion Channel reporter Liccone Agitar piped up from the crowd. “Well, the holonet has just dubbed you ‘The Scarlet Dragon’. ”

The dazzling smile she flashed at the Chiss reporter could have outshined a supernova. “‘Scarlet Dragon’?” She looked into the dozen cam-drones hovering in front of her. “I like it.” With that, the soon-to-be titled Baroness Lylla Sa’thraxxx turned and slowly ascended the stairs to the Imperial Security Bureau. The herd of reporters followed her, still bleating their questions, but Lylla nor her servant Palissa paid them any heed.

Once the doors closed, cutting off the throng of reporters from inside the sweeping lobby of the ISB, Lylla pulled a comlink out of her sleeve. “Jixton.”

His voice crackled back. “Baroness?”

“The reporter, the one from Corellia.” She lowered her voice and smirked. “Make it look like an accident.”

The malevolent mirth in Jixton’s reply was unmistakable. “I live but to serve...Lady Dragon.”

From his position on the outer skirt of the media horde, Wrenga Jixton spotted the Correllian reporter. He cracked a small grin. “She’s learning,” he murmured as he put his hand on his hidden vibroblade and set to following him through the crowd.

 

* * *

 

As his shuttle descended in the landing bay of the Executor, Lord Vader watched the final few moments of Lylla’s first engagement with the galactic media via the holonetic screens of his lenses. She handled the media stellarly; she was confident, disarming, with a dash of showmanship he never bothered nor cared to master. The way she turned the possibly disastrous leak about her origins (undoubtedly thanks to his Master) into a public relations triumph was masterfully done: The fewer her secrets, the less they could be used against her. Indeed, it most likely endeared her even more to the Imperial populace. Pride was an emotion he was not accustomed to, but when he felt it swell in his chest, he welcomed it.

He set the shuttle down with nary a bounce. Vader rose from the pilot’s seat and brushed past the ship’s crew to the exit ramp. Once it lowered, he descended the ramp to meet the awaiting Emperor Palpatine, surrounded by his Imperial Royal Guard, in the bay. 

The Emperor turned at the sound of the hydraulic hiss of the shuttle’s ramp. “Welcome aboard, Lord Vader.”

Vader bowed when he reached the end of the ramp. “My Emperor.”

“Any news to report since my departure from the Throneworld?”

Vader rose from his bow. “None at all, your Highness. Shall we begin our tour in the Engineering Sector?”

“Excellent, Lord Vader.” 

 

* * *

 

The hologram of Lylla smiling into the camera and captivating the media reporters glimmered on top of the dejarik board in the hold of the _Millennium Falcon_. Han Solo blew an annoyed breath. “Why are we watching this again?”

“I’m watching this for intel,” Leia Organa answered, sitting on the lounge surrounding the table, arms and legs crossed. “You’re watching it because you happen to be in the room, flyboy.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my room, Your Worship,” Han muttered back. “Why’d you need my holoprojector? Why couldn’t you watch this in the Briefing Room with the other Alliance bigwigs?”

Leia threw him that look, with the pursed lips and the narrowed eyes, the one that always made Solo chew the inside of his cheek with aggravation. “What did you expect me to say to them? 'May I please use official Alliance equipment so I can watch the Society Channel?’ They’d look at me like I had three heads.”

“Trust me Your Holiness, one head of yours is quite enough.” 

The Princess smirked. “You could have always just said ‘no’, Han.”

He hated it when this insufferably gorgeous Princess was right, which was, maddeningly, most of the time; he hated it even more that he actually really liked having her there in his ship. Han’s lips opened and closed, trying to form some kind of comeback, and instead blew an exasperated breath through his nose. He threw his attention back at the broadcast. “Oh great, now she’s getting all misty-eyed.” Chewbacca gargled a disgusted growl at Lylla’s projection. “You can say that again, Chewie.”

Leia furrowed her brow. “What did he say?”

Han and Chewie exchanged glances, both hesitant to answer, when Threepio piped up. “He called her a ‘lying bitch’, Princess.”

Leia's mouth dropped. “Chewie!”

The captain and his mate both grimaced. “Well,” Han said, “is he wrong?” Leia opened her mouth as if to retort, but then simply sighed. He glared at Threepio. “Thanks, Goldenrod.”

“Oh dear,” Threepio said worriedly. “Is that an offensive term for humans?”

“Not as far as she’s concerned.” Han broke into a pace. “Can you believe that broad? She’s making Vader sound like the savior of the galaxy!”

“Yes. It’s pretty brilliant, actually,” Leia said bitterly.

Han stopped. “Brilliant??”

“She’s humanizing him,” she clarified. She glanced at the hologram again. “She’s a beautiful woman--”

“Who looks like she eats babies for breakfast,” Han muttered. Chewie chuckled. R2D2 whistled.

“Be that as it may,” Leia droned, raising an elegantly arched eyebrow, “she’s a beautiful, charismatic woman portraying Darth Vader in an heroic light. Even as dashing. Romantic.” 

“Well, isn’t that sweet?” Han grumbled. “Darth Asthma has a girlfriend.”

Leia pursed her lips and shook her head. “Along with that story about being a rescued pleasure slave...”

“More lies,” Han muttered.

“No lies. She’s telling the truth.”

All heads, human, Wookiee, and droid, turned to the young man leaning against the bulkhead next to the exit door of the Falcon. Luke Skywalker met their questioning looks. “Well, at least she is about that.”

“I was wondering when you were going to say something,” Leia remarked. “You’ve been awfully quiet over there.”

Han put his hands on his hips. “And why exactly are _you_ here watching this?”

Luke shrugged. “I just wanted to watch the holonet.”

“So what is she lying about?” Han asked. “Cuz you know she’s lying about something.”

Luke pushed himself off the wall and came toward the table, his arms folded over his chest. “Vader’s loyalty to Palpatine,” he said. “And hers.”

Leia watched Luke’s face closely, noting his scowl as he stared at the paused image of the statuesque woman. “So Vader IS making a play for the throne?” Luke didn’t answer. “What is it, Luke?”

“There’s something about her…” Luke murmured, shaking his head. “Something… very dark.”

“Ya think?” Han quipped.

“No Han,” Luke said, coming closer, never taking his eyes off her. “Something in the Force. I can feel it.”

Leia frowned. “You can feel her all the way here? We’re thirty parsecs from Coruscant.” She cocked her head when he didn’t answer. “Luke…?”

He swallowed hard. It was like he was trying to combat nausea, but not in any physical way. Finally, he gazed at Leia. “Ok, I'm not here just to watch the holonet. I wanted to see for myself… what kind of woman the man who murdered both our fathers would have as a mate.” He looked back at Lylla. “Now I know.”

“Force-sensitive and evil,” Han said. “Great combo.”

“Evil, most likely. But Force-sensitive…I don't know. But I do know this much.”

“What?” Leia asked.

Luke’s blue eyes, the color of a Tatooine morning sky, looked into the white eyes of the woman in the hologram, eyes devoid of any color, compassion, or human kindness. “Our problems just multiplied.”

* * *

End of Volume I of The Chronicles of House Vader

Next: The Chronicles of House Vader, Volume II, Part I:  
Dark Angel, Scarlet Dragon


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